


Refractions Glimpsed in the Sainte-Chapelle

by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Multi, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Timeless Season 3 Project, Tumblr Prompt, bunker family, depending on the chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 65
Words: 45,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23090521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/pseuds/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels
Summary: A collection of my prompts brought over from tumblr for preservation.
Relationships: Denise Christopher & Lucy Preston, Garcia Flynn & Jiya, Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston, Garcia Flynn/Wyatt Logan, Garcia Flynn/Wyatt Logan/Lucy Preston, Jessica Logan/Amy Preston, Jiya & Lucy Preston, Rufus Carlin/Jiya
Comments: 48
Kudos: 49





	1. Wyatt/Flynn/Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/185623567538/okay-if-u-cantdont-want-to-do-this-i-completely

Flynn first heard it when he entered the bathroom to brush his teeth while Lucy was in the shower. “Mind if I step in for a second?” he asked.

“Oh, no problem.”

He figured it wouldn’t be, since when you’ve seen someone naked repeatedly in bed seeing them naked in the shower isn’t that big of a deal, but he felt it was important to check.

He’d just started when Lucy began singing.

_What are you doing Friday?  
Wanna help my worlds collide? Let’s make a bow with old cut ties.  
Do you want his number?  
Or shall I be the one to call? I haven’t seen him much at all…_

Flynn hadn’t heard the song before, but he liked hearing Lucy sing.

Although, the song seemed stuck in her head a lot lately. The second time he heard it was when he was chopping onions for dinner and Lucy wandered in, singing it again.

_It could be weird, but I think I’m into it.  
You know I’m one for the overly passionate…_

Flynn frowned, watching as Lucy got a glass of water and then sauntered back out again, still singing.

The third time was when he and Wyatt were sparring in the designated gym area. Lucy had no reason to be over there, but somehow, suddenly, she was, marking up a history book and singing that damn song.

_You’ve got so much in common,  
Talk about your taste in women.  
I’ll be in the middle,  
You two get along._

Wyatt, to Flynn’s surprise, squinted at Lucy in a very suspicious manner that seemed to match the niggling thought in the back of Flynn’s mind. “Luce, you think about singing any other song lately?” Wyatt asked.

Lucy looked up from her book and beamed at him. “Nope!”

She went back to singing and marking up the book.

“Okay,” Wyatt said later, joining Flynn at the kitchen counter. “She’s up to something. She’s been singing that song for like a week straight. She’s never done that before.”

“She did it once,” Flynn pointed out. “After Mason kept eating her Circus Animal cookies.”

Wyatt winced. “If I never hear ‘You Can’t Touch This’ again it’ll be too soon.”

“Question is,” Flynn said, reaching across Wyatt so that their chests brushed, grabbing two water bottles and handing one to Wyatt, “what she means by it.”

Wyatt hummed thoughtfully, shaking out his wrist. Flynn grabbed it. “I told you, do some strengthening exercises.” He gently rubbed his thumb on Wyatt’s inner wrist. “Get one of those exercise balls or something to squeeze.”

“I keep forgetting to ask Denise for one.” Wyatt dropped his forehead down to rest it on Flynn’s shoulder. “That feels good though.”

“Oh, so this is just to get me to massage your wrist, is that your dastardly plan?”

“Totally. You found me out, chief. Foiled me yet again.”

“So. Lucy.” Flynn dropped Wyatt’s wrist to give him space to drink the water. “What could she…”

“Oh my God,” Jiya said.

Both men jumped. Flynn hadn’t known she was there.

“She wants you two to bang,” Jiya said. “B-A-N-G. As in, both date her. As in, share one bedroom. As in, put us all out of our misery.”

Flynn stared. Wyatt’s jaw dropped. “What are you—what misery?” Flynn croaked.

Jiya looked pointedly at them.

Flynn looked at himself and Wyatt and realized that not only did he basically have Wyatt pressed against the kitchen counter, chest to chest, Wyatt’s forehead was resting on his shoulder, he’d just been holding Wyatt’s wrist, and he was now about to feed Wyatt water like some kind of weird mating ritual.

“Uh…” Flynn said, very eloquently.

“You’re all idiots,” Jiya announced, grabbing some potato chips and heading back out of the kitchen.

The last time Flynn heard it, he was lying in bed, Wyatt’s head on his chest as Lucy sat up next to them, reading something and idly singing under her breath.

“Lucy. _Moja draga_.” Flynn pawed at her book. “Stop singing that stupid song and go to sleep.”

“It’s not a stupid song, it’s a great song, nay, a masterpiece, and—”

“Lucy. Light of my life. It’s two a.m.”

“…valid.”

(If he sometimes would hum snatches of the song right where only Lucy or Wyatt could hear him, well. Nobody else had to know.)


	2. Wyatt/Flynn/Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/184045389108/prompt-garcyatt-as-ghost-hunters

Flynn didn’t believe in ghosts.

In fact, most of the time, he still doesn’t. Most of the cases they get, the ghost is either nonexistent or its so weak, so barely peeking out from the spiritual plane in to the material, that there’s not really much that they can do. But now he’s seen the truth, and he knows—ghosts very much exist.

It started when Lucy Preston sat down next to him in a bar, and said, “I have a message for you, from Lorena and Iris.”

He hadn’t believed her, of course, but Lucy had known things that nobody else could possibly know. Like the song Lorena would hum that used to drive him nuts, and how Iris hated peas, and how on the night they died, he’d used a small water gun to check Iris’s closet for monsters.

“I can see them,” Lucy explained. “Spirits, in general. I have since I was a child.”

“What do they want?” Flynn asked. “My girls?”

“They want you to pull yourself together,” Lucy replied.

So he had. He convinced Lucy to use her powers—something she was reluctant to do, since her mother had tried to abuse Lucy’s powers for her own ends as a medium, charging people to speak to their dead loved ones and not caring if said loved ones weren’t ghosts but had moved on and were giving Lucy nothing to work with. But Lucy had this gift for a reason, and Flynn could tell she needed a protector.

They went on the road, and they’ve been doing this ever since.

Wyatt joined about a year ago, after asking them for help with the ghost of his wife. “She’s angry with me. I screwed up real bad, and I want to make it right, but I can’t talk to her.”

Flynn couldn’t see the ghosts. Revealing themselves took a lot of energy, so they stayed hidden. Only those like Lucy with the Sight could see them regularly. But boy, Jess had made her presence known in other ways. Banging pots and pans together, setting small fires, rattling cupboards, shattering beer bottles.

“Oh yeah,” Flynn said. “She’s pissed.”

Lucy played marriage counselor for a few days, and Jess at last departed with Wyatt’s apologies, and Wyatt joined them because, well, ghosts could get violent and Flynn couldn’t see ghosts but he sure as hell could see that Wyatt had fallen for Lucy.

So yeah. Flynn believes in ghosts now.

And he really believes they shouldn’t take this case.

The ghost of the Keynes residence is violent, and he suspects their client, Emma Whitmore, knows more about said ghost than she’s telling them. Wyatt got flung into a wall by a poltergeist about a month ago and ever since then Flynn’s been… well he hates to use the phrase ‘insanely protective’ but if the shoe fits…?

(If he and Wyatt also had their first kiss a month ago, there in the decimated remains of the wall, after Wyatt sucked in a deep breath after a few seconds of terrifying stillness, then, well. That’s just coincidence.

He and Lucy kissed long before that. None of them talk about what they are. But they are.)

“I don’t like this,” Flynn mentions idly as Lucy draws a circle of salt.

“I’ll be fine.” Lucy gives him a _boots off the table_ look and Flynn obligingly takes his feet off said table, smirking at her.

Lucy sits in the middle of the salt circle, takes a deep breath, and then asks politely, “Nicholas? If you’re there, could you show yourself?”

Lucy’s always so polite to ghosts.

There’s silence for a few seconds. Wyatt fidgets in his chair, and Flynn idly puts his hand on Wyatt’s thigh to still him.

Then all around them the house starts to shake, and the shadows darken and lengthen, and everything rattles, and Flynn gets that old wartime intuition that screams _get the fuck out of dodge_.

Lucy’s face is white, her eyes wide, seeing things that they can’t. For a moment everything seems to hang in midair, and then like a shattered glass Lucy screams, and everything goes still.

Flynn leaps to his feet, rushing to her. Lucy’s shaking all over and she clutches at him like he’s the only real thing in the world. “ _Moja draga_ , Lucy, Lucy—”

“Amy,” Lucy chokes out.

Amy is Lucy’s sister who vanished years ago. Lucy’s searched for her spirit, but hasn’t ever been able to find it.

But now…

Lucy looks up at him, eyes rimmed red. “Amy died in this house,” she whispers hoarsely. “Nicholas has her. He has Amy’s spirit trapped.”

Flynn looks up at Wyatt, who as usual says the thing everyone’s thinking but doesn’t want to speak aloud: “Well, shit.”


	3. Jess/Amy & Wyatt/Flynn/Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/185503483713/prompt-jess-picks-amy-up-from-an-airport-with

Flynn stared at the sign that Jess pulled out of her trunk. “Um… how long did you say you two have been dating?”

“Six months, why?” Jess asked.

“Just making sure it’s long enough that you can make jokes like that.”

“It’s fine,” Jess said, laughing. “She’ll be amused.”

Flynn shot Wyatt a look. _She’s your ex-wife!_

Wyatt put his hands in the air as if to say _do I look like I have any control of the situation whatsoever?_

Fair point. Wyatt was never in control of anything and when he tried to be, it all went south and usually something caught on fire.

They walked from the parking garage to the airport terminal, then down to baggage claim. Jess was bouncing impatiently on her feet. Flynn had never met this Amy person, but that was why he and Wyatt were here—she and Jess had met online, and Jess had visited Amy, and now it was Amy’s turn to come. She was going to stay for a while and help her older sister move in to her new apartment–the older sister was a professor of some kind and had just gotten a post at Stanford, or so Flynn recalled—and she and Jess had thought it the perfect opportunity to try a bit of living together. Just to see.

Jess got to the front, where people exited from the terminal, and proudly held up the sign:

WELCOME HOME FROM PRISON, AMY!!!! YOU’RE STILL THE MOST WANTED IN MY HEART!!!

It had glitter and everything. Jess had gone all out.

Flynn just hoped that the people around them would keep their weird stares to a minimum.

Wyatt looked around. “Should I just pretend I don’t know you?” he grumbled.

“Aww, live a little,” Flynn said, unable to resist needling Wyatt, nudging him.

“There she is!” Jess said, jumping up and down. “Amy!”

A young woman with dark blonde hair and dark eyes emerged from the terminal. When she saw the sign, she burst out into laughter. “Oh my God, Jess, really? Babe?”

“Don’t you like it?” Jess pouted.

“You’re ridiculous.” Amy ran up and Jess dropped the sign—Flynn caught it just before it could hit the ground or Wyatt’s foot—to catch her girlfriend in a passionate kiss.

“We’re in public,” Wyatt said, deadpan.

Jess flipped him off, still kissing Amy.

“Thanks for introducing me to your girlfriend,” another voice said, gently teasing.

Flynn dropped the sign.

A gorgeous brunette was walking up to them, smiling nervously. “Hi, I’m Lucy, I’m Amy’s sister.”

“I’m Flynn, and he’s—” Wyatt blurted out, then stopped. “Sorry, I meant— _he’s_ Flynn, and I’m, I’m Wyatt, hi, uh, ma’am, hi.”

Flynn would have stepped on Wyatt’s foot to get him to shut up but that would require motor functions and he currently didn’t have those.

“I think we’re about the same age, you don’t have to call me ma’am,” Lucy replied. “It’s nice to meet both of you, I’ve heard so much about you from Amy I feel like I already know you.”

“Uh huh, Flynn managed.

Amy de-tangled herself from Jess. “Oh hey, you must be Flynn and Wyatt, Lucy, this is the terrible twosome.”

“Oh, I don’t know, they don’t look so terrible to me.” Lucy winked at them.

Dying of a heart attack in the airport was not how he’d planned to go but y’know what, Flynn could accept it.

“We need a picture with the sign,” Amy said.

“No. No you do not.”

“I need to hop into the bathroom and make myself look all grungy.”

“ _No, no you don’t_.”

“She absolutely does,” Jess said with a grin.

Lucy sighed. “I’ll be clinging to you two for sanity,” she muttered to the men as Amy began loudly and dramatically talking about how conjugal visits just weren’t enough and oh wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a nice big bed and proper privacy…

“Good luck,” Wyatt said, and Lucy might have thought he was talking to her, but Flynn knew, Wyatt really was talking to him.

Because yeah, good luck keeping their sanity around Lucy Preston.


	4. Wyatt/Flynn/Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/184936385163/okay-so-the-prompt-isnt-anything-fancy-or

Flynn tramped up to the cabin, going in front to be a wind breaker for Lucy, and wrenched the door open.

“I can’t believe this,” Wyatt muttered, taking up the rear. “The only thing that could possibly make this worse is…”

Flynn took in the spare furnishings and he knew Wyatt had as well because Wyatt immediately said, in a voice equal parts dejection and frustration, “…is if there was only one bed.”

Rufus was staying in the Lifeboat for the night just in case something else went wrong with it and to make sure no snow got in–the battery in it kept the Lifeboat warm and once the door was closed it was pretty much bullet proof, but there wasn’t really room for more than one person to stretch out. Flynn had offered to stay and guard, as had Wyatt, but Rufus had said he’d be fine with the flare gun and the pistol.

Flynn tried not to think about how Rufus, how all of them, were getting hardened.

This small cabin wasn’t too far away, thank God, but it felt like forever in the wind and snow. Lucy was shivering all over.

“Obviously Lucy gets the bed,” Flynn said. He looked at Wyatt. “Think you can keep from hogging the rug in front of the fire?”

“Think we can move the bed in front of the fire?” Wyatt countered.

Fair point. That would keep Lucy even warmer.

“Oh for goodness’ sake,” Lucy snapped. “You’ll both freeze if you sleep on the floor. There’s no insulation and that fireplace isn’t going to be enough to heat the entire cabin.”

“Gotta wonder what made the last person who lived here skip town,” Wyatt muttered. “If there’s a damn Wendigo lurking around…”

“Played too much _Until Dawn_ with Jiya, have we?”

“I had to redo it until I saved all the chara—don’t judge me,” Wyatt snapped.

Flynn just grinned, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“We need to share body heat,” Lucy went on, and she immediately began to take off her coat.

“Whoa…” Wyatt started, but Flynn just rolled his eyes. He was exhausted, hungry, tired, and not in the mood.

“Take off your layers or you’ll sweat through them, Logan, we can’t have you dying of hypothermia.”

Wyatt muttered unintelligibly, but dutifully got down to his underclothes.

He and Flynn moved the bed over to the fire (with some grunting and cursing along the way) and then they all climbed in. The bed was designed for two people, not three, but if Lucy laid half on top of Flynn, it worked. Sure his breathing was a little strained, but it was fine.

Wyatt curled up into his side, and Flynn automatically put an arm around him so Wyatt wouldn’t fall off, prompting Wyatt to snuggle in a little closer.

Lucy’s soft, sweet hair was practically in his nose. He could smell her, feel her, all over, warm and real and alive.

They hadn’t… talked, really. None of them. Wyatt was trying to get through to Jess but after his ill-timed confession to Lucy, and Flynn’s own near-confession… they’d all been quiet on the relationships front. Wyatt was slowly gaining back everyone’s trust, and half the time Flynn still wanted to strangle him, but the other half of the time he wanted to hold Wyatt until Wyatt finally shattered and cried out all those damn emotions he kept bottling up. Lucy—he and Lucy were the same as ever. He was sure she must know now how he felt, but she hadn’t said anything.

Now he had the two of them in his arms and Flynn had no idea what to do with that.

So he just kept an eye on the door, and an ear out for Rufus or someone (or something) else, and eventually was lulled into sleep.

He woke up a few hours later in the dark to find that at some point in the night, Lucy had tangled her legs with his and was gripping onto his shirt like she’d never let go, not for God or money, her head nestled on his shoulder. Wyatt’s arm had wormed its way around Flynn, holding onto him, and for a moment, Flynn didn’t know what had woken him up.

It was cozy, the three of them, and it had been so long since he’d shared a bed with someone, been properly touched by someone, that he nearly sobbed. He hadn’t realized how touch-starved he was, until now. But there wasn’t the sound of anyone outside, just the howling wind, no lights in the distance, nothing.

Then he felt it—Wyatt’s chest heaving.

He turned his head, and in the dark he could just make out the outline of Wyatt’s face–his open eyes, glittering, his mouth trembling.

Flynn didn’t want to wake Lucy, so he just tightened his hold on Wyatt and hummed softly, pressing his mouth to Wyatt’s hair and praying he wasn’t about to get a no-homo crisis from the guy at two in the morning.

Wyatt froze, and then… slowly, carefully, tilted his head just a little and gave Flynn’s neck the briefest of kisses.

Flynn rubbed Wyatt’s back, kissed his hair again, and thought, well, that would be that, at least for now until they could talk properly in the morning–and then felt Wyatt jump.

He looked down and saw, in the dark, that Lucy had reached out and gently taken Wyatt’s hand with her own.

She turned her face up to Flynn, her eyes wide and open. He couldn’t let her think—he would never—he loved her—

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, just so that she knew. So that she would know—it was always her, always Lucy.

Lucy gave a content little sigh, the corner of her mouth quirking upwards, and then she snuggled into his chest, pressing a firm kiss to his sternum through his shirt.

Flynn held onto them both, and felt them cling to him, and fell asleep again—warm and safe.


	5. Jess/Amy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/184913221898/based-on-a-dumb-buzzfeed-article-i-saw-that

Working at the local 7-Eleven was not anyone’s dream gig, but hey, it was something.

And boy, did Amy need something.

Fortunately, she worked it with her sister Lucy. Normally working a job with your sibling, especially a minimum wage one, was not exactly a fun idea, but Lucy was her best friend. They’d always been extremely close, despite, or perhaps because of, the seven year age difference.

They had invented various games to amuse themselves and pass the time, being off the I-80 and not exactly bursting with life at this time of night, and one of those games was rating the butts of customers who walked in.

No, it wasn’t exactly a testament to their intelligence, but whatever.

Lucy had a couple regular guys who came in that she was always eyeing. One of them Amy had nicknamed Puppy and the other was T.D.C., short for Tall Dark and Cranky.

Amy didn’t have any crushes on anyone really. Oh, sure, she flirted with various people, but nobody that made her perk up her ears, so to speak.

“Oh c’mon,” Lucy said, leaning back against the counter. “T.D.C. is totally a ten out of ten on the butts, give him more credit.”

The bell over the door jingled and someone else walked in.

Amy turned her head, unable to catch the person’s face in time, but catching a damn good look at the back of them instead.

Um… wow.

“Now _that_ ,” Amy whispered, “is a proper ten.”

Lucy looked. “I suppose.”

“You _suppose_.” Amy scoffed in disbelief.

The person, a woman, walked through the aisles and finally settled on a whisky, turning and bringing it up to the counter.

Oh, holy shit.

The woman was a blonde, with a pert nose, mischievous dark brown eyes, a smirk and um, okay, her butt was great but boobs, wow, and arms, _arms_ , and Amy was so, so bi.

“Hi,” she squeaked.

The woman’s smirk grew. “Hey, I’ll just be getting this.”

“That’s a lot of alcohol,” Amy said, and then smacked herself on the forehead. “I’m sorry, that’s rude.”

The blonde laughed. “No, no, you’re good. In fact I was just looking for someone to share this with.”

“Oh, damn, that…”

“Her shift ends in ten minutes,” Lucy said, interrupting.

Amy turned and glared at her sister. Was Lucy literally flirting _for_ her?

“Well what do you know, your shift ends in ten minutes.” The blonde quirked her eyebrows. “What do you say, you tell me your name, I give you a bit of this, we shoot the breeze?”

“Uh…” The hottest woman she’d ever seen with an ass that looked like it couldn’t quit was asking her out?

“She means yes,” Lucy said, elbowing Amy.

Amy nodded frantically, her mouth dry.

“Then how about you ring me up?” the woman said. “I’m Jess, by the way.”

“Amy.”

“Amy,” Jess repeated, drawling the word. It made Amy’s heart race. “By the way, I’d say you’re a proper ten too.”

Amy’s face went hot and she knew she was blushing. “You heard that?”

“Yup.” Jess popped the ‘p’ in the word. “But don’t worry.” She winked. “Gotta get your hands on it to really rate it properly, wouldn’t you say?”

Four hours and several whisky-stained kisses later, Amy had a phone number and a date for next Friday.


	6. Wyatt/Flynn/Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/184521860873/hi-what-about-a-universe-where-they-go-on-a
> 
> Details about Lucy’s indoctrination were inspired by Starlight and Strange Magic by @qqueenofhades.

Flynn hates it when they go on missions without Lucy.

At least this time it’s not because she’s moaning helplessly with pain, glassy-eyed and burning up with fever. That was far too close of a call and he still shudders when he remembers how she clung to the edge of life for days.

But he still doesn’t like it.

Things are ever-changing on the war front. Sometimes Emma isn’t sending Rittenhouse on missions that need a historian. She’s sending them on missions that need soldiers. Or Lucy’s history knowledge isn’t the knowledge that they need—Jiya knows plenty about Chinese history thanks to listening in on the lives and histories of her friends in Chinatown, and she’s more of an expert on the late 19th century than Lucy. Flynn knows more about European history, and Connor’s got more knowledge about the British Empire which, thanks colonialism, is pretty damn important.

Today, they needed Jiya and Mason—so they brought Wyatt and Flynn along for protection. Not that Jiya needs much of it. She can kick ass and knows how to handle both a knife and a gun, but it’s good to have a second person with her, and Connor is still… well. Connor. So Wyatt bodyguards him while Flynn pairs up with Jiya.

The whole time, Flynn feels like he’s missing a limb. Missing Lucy’s smile, her wit, her quick mind, her sharp eyes, her voice. All of her. Normally he’d be glad that she’s safe in the bunker, out of danger, but—there’s the ever-present fear that something has changed, will change, that he will come back to find her dead or gone.

They climb into the Lifeboat, Wyatt a little bruised and battered and Jiya’s dress torn but all of them otherwise unscathed, and they jump back to their present.

Flynn gets out first, and offers a hand to Wyatt, who winces as he comes down the steps. But then he turns… and it’s not Lucy who’s pushed the steps up to them.

It’s a girl that Flynn doesn’t recognize. Long dark blonde hair, big brown eyes, a long, angular face… about Jiya’s age, and pretty, but utterly foreign.

No, wait. Not quite.

Something in the shape of her face and her eyes… it’s familiar to him. But wrong. Why does he feel like there’s something of a ghost he knows lurking in the lines of her?

Next to him, Wyatt stops short, and stares. “Amy?” he croaks.

Flynn’s heart stops.

Amy. Amy Preston. Lucy’s sister, the one Flynn inadvertently caused to go missing.

Lucy got her sister back, she’ll be so happy, she’ll… “Where’s Lucy?”

Everyone stares. Amy gapes, actually gapes, mouth open, and then looks like she might cry. “Is this some kind of—of joke?” she demands, sounding betrayed.

“What joke?” Flynn says, a little more sharply than he means to. “There’s no joke, I’m asking where my… where Lucy is.”

They haven’t said what they are, the three of them, but every night Lucy presses herself against his chest like she won’t make it through the night if she’s not hearing his heartbeat, and Wyatt presses his nose into Flynn’s neck and tangles their legs and balls a handful of Flynn’s shirt in his hand.

And Flynn… Flynn holds onto both of them with all he has.

Amy really does start crying then, turning away quickly and pressing a hand over her mouth. Denise strides forward, staring at all of them. Flynn gets down from the steps so that Connor and Jiya can shove past, Jiya hurrying over to Rufus, who’s manning the Lifeboat computers, and clutching at him, whispering, making sure their relationship hasn’t changed, too.

“What’s happened?” Wyatt’s voice is high pitched, panicked, and he grasps at Flynn’s hand like he’s drowning. “Where’s Lucy, what’s happened?”

Flynn’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest and he can’t quite breathe, but he manages to stay standing, stay still, because if he collapses then Wyatt will too and he can’t do that to Wyatt.

Denise has her Mom Face on. “I don’t know what’s gone on in your timeline, but here, for us… Lucy Preston is the leader of Rittenhouse.”

“No.” Wyatt shakes his head. “No, no, Lucy wouldn’t—she’d never, she’d—no, she— _no—_ ”

“Mom raised her,” Amy says, turning and facing them, her face pale, hands shaking, “to believe that she was a princess. Rittenhouse’s princess. Told her all about Rittenhouse from a young age. I wanted to be a historian too, like them, but it was never the same, never… I wasn’t pureblood. I wasn’t Rittenhouse, not really, and so I could see—the cracks, the faults, the… how wrong it was, and Lucy—but she wanted to be special and she didn’t see it that way and we argued and then—then you stole a time machine.”

Amy looks at Flynn, and he’s taken aback by the affection he sees there. It’s not romantic, not at all—in fact it reminds him of how Iris would often look at him, and he nearly sinks to his knees because he realizes, without even a word being spoken, what he is to Amy in this timeline, what she must be to him.

How instead of finding another woman to fall in love with, he found another daughter.

He’s only just starting to understand how much he cares for Jiya in that way, only just starting to open himself up to the possibility of taking on that fatherly role again in a small capacity, and he can’t—how did he, in another timeline, come to accept that? How did he move on like that?

Then again, he could ask himself the same thing about romance, about Lucy and Wyatt. But especially Lucy, Lucy for whom he fell so very quickly.

“You stole the Mothership, and Lucy was called in, but I knew—I knew that Rittenhouse had to be stopped. Mom and Lucy planned it as her big sort of… proving moment, stopping you, and assuming control of Rittenhouse. So I, um, I got in contact with you, through Lucy, I met you and I started helping you as much as I could, and then Denise, I told her the truth about Lucy, about… all of it…” Amy looks at Wyatt. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, you were in love with her, and so—you said, Flynn you said that Lucy gave you the journal so I don’t know what changed or what the original timeline is but—it broke your hearts when I told you the truth, and then she—she stole the Mothership, and blew up Mason Industries, and she’s been in charge ever since, with Mom.”

“What about Emma?” Flynn asks.

“Emma Whitmore?” Denise’s voice is sharp, businesslike. “She’s their pilot, teaching Lucy how to do it, if our intelligence is correct.”

“And Jessica?” Wyatt asks. “My—my ex? Is she—is the baby—”

Denise presses her lips together, gives a small sigh. “Your wife died in 2012.”

So Jess never came back, then. Never got pregnant.

Wyatt makes a noise like someone’s punched him and Flynn grabs him, pulls him in, uncaring if the others are seeing. “What do we do?” he demands. “How do we get her back?”

Amy and Denise exchange looks. Rufus, though, is the one to pipe up. “You want to, what, literally convince the woman in charge of the elite Death Eater organization that she’s wrong and poor non-white people aren’t so bad?”

“Lucy’s bi,” Flynn says, struggling to keep is voice under control. “And she’s a woman in Rittenhouse, surrounded by white men, that has to chafe. She never—the Lucy we knew, she was compassionate, open-minded, she never judged anyone.”

“That’s not your Lucy anymore, though,” Rufus says.

“And if it was Jiya you’d just give up?” Flynn snaps.

Wyatt’s clinging to him, shaking, but not crying, and Flynn rubs his back. He knows it’s not just Lucy, although that’s bad enough. It’s losing Jess all over again, and his child—the child Wyatt was looking forward to, the child he was ready to do anything to save from Rittenhouse. That future is gone.

Rufus glares, but looks a bit chastened.

“Lucy’s… she’s practically been brainwashed,” Amy says, her voice weary and small like she’s had to say this a thousand times. “Mom’s got a hold on her. If we could get her away from Mom, maybe, we could… she’s not a… a bad person but. But I mean, we have a word for the people who joined the Nazis because of mistaken ideals, or because they were ignorant, or reluctantly.”

“We call them Nazis,” Flynn finishes. “I know.” He swallows. Tightens his grip on Wyatt. “But there’s also… there’s also when you think you’re doing what’s right, and you realize you’ve lost you’re way, and you’re in darkness, and you find yourself doing things you never thought you would, and justifying it.”

Like shooting Lincoln. Or selling weapons to the Nazis. Or blowing up an airship. To name just a few things.

He knows that Wyatt knows what he means, because he feels a soft kiss pressed to just underneath his jaw—a reassurance, an acknowledgment, a silent _I remember what you went through and I love you._

Denise folds her arms. “Flynn. If you’re suggesting…”

“…that we kidnap Lucy, the head of Rittenhouse, yes, that’s exactly what he’s suggesting,” Rufus says. “Because he’s Flynn.”

“I don’t like the idea of taking her somewhere, anywhere, against her will,” Flynn explains. “But if we can get her out of that toxic environment…”

“And capturing the head of Rittenhouse will be a blow,” Jiya adds quickly. “If she does turn out to be awful in this timeline then we can use her as blackmail or a bargaining chip or something.”

Denise is silent for a long while. Long enough that Flynn’s heart starts to sink.

“Oh, come off it, Christopher,” Connor says at last. “Let them be bloody romantics and see if true love can’t win the day, eh? It worked for Jiya and Rufus.”

Denise looks like she wants a stiff drink and gives Connor the stink eye, but then looks at Amy. “She’s your sister, Amy,” she says. “And you were the one who really brought this team together. It’s your call.”

Amy’s lip trembles for a moment. She looks at Flynn, and then straightens her shoulders, raises her chin, and nods at Denise.

“All right,” she says. “Let’s… let’s do it.”

Flynn nods at her gratefully, and squeezes Wyatt. “ _Spasit ćemo joj, moju ljubav. Spasit ćemo je._ ”

He failed the people he loved once.

Not again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation: We'll save her, my love. We'll save her.


	7. Flynn/Wyatt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/184158922553/flynn-and-wyatt-secretly-holding-hands-under-the

They’re having another meeting—seems like all they do is have meetings lately—and Flynn’s got one hand resting on his thigh under the table while he doodles with the other.

Around him, everyone else is behaving perfectly normally. Lucy’s yawning, her hands around her mug of coffee, her hair tousled. Adorable, making his heart squeeze and his breath come up short. Across from them, Rufus and Jiya are in pajamas, idly stealing each other’s food. Mason’s at the far end shuffling through some papers, and Denise is standing, arms folded.

On Flynn’s other side is Wyatt, a faint blush still on his cheeks.

Last night was—it could be, anything. Just a roll in the hay, a way to let out tension. Flynn’s not going to push. If Wyatt wants it to be just a one time thing then that’s what Flynn will let it be. It’s not what he wants it to be, but Flynn’s well aware that he’s incapable of doing ‘casual’. He’s an all or nothing type person, but not everyone is, and this is all new for Wyatt. He doesn’t want to force him into anything too fast.

Denise and Lucy go back and forth about what angle they should take on this latest issue, and Flynn’s wondering if he should maybe intercede on Lucy’s behalf, when he feels tentative fingers sliding over his hand.

He glances to his right. Wyatt’s blush has deepened, just a little.

Flynn slowly, without looking, interlocks their fingers.

Wyatt takes a quick sip of coffee with his other hand, which just about manages to hide his smile.

Flynn squeezes his hand, gently swiping his thumb over Wyatt’s knuckles, and goes back to doodling.

The rest of the conversation is probably important, but Flynn only half hears it, too busy trying not to grin as they keep holding hands.


	8. Flynn/Wyatt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/184122897633/idk-if-you-do-these-types-of-prompts-if-you-dont

Wyatt claws at Flynn’s shoulders, shudders into his mouth, and Flynn hauls him closer, licks right in, wants their damn clothes off _now—_

A small noise escapes Wyatt before he can stop it, and Flynn freezes, his hands still digging tightly into Wyatt’s hips. “Wyatt?”

“Why’d you stop?” Wyatt demands, the edge of his voice raw. “C’mon—” He tries to tug Flynn back in, to get Flynn to shove him against the wall, but Flynn resists, pulling back, lifting Wyatt’s shirt up.

Bruises, again. From blows—or maybe from getting thrown into something. A piece of furniture, maybe?

“‘s nothing,” Wyatt mumbles. “Just had a fight, on the mission y’know…”

“You’re getting into a lot of fights lately.”

Flynn’s not an idiot. He’s well aware what their relationship is, where Wyatt’s head lurks nowadays. After Chinatown, after getting Rufus back, after losing his wife to Rittenhouse and his own stupid actions, after losing his child—Wyatt’s not exactly operating on all cylinders lately. This—this thing between them, it started when they were undercover at Stonewall and since then it’s been rutting in dark corners of the bunker, fucking rough and hard in the shower, Wyatt dropping to his knees without so much as a warning. It’s hard and rough and that’s not Flynn’s preference—okay sometimes it is, but not all the time, but he wants to give Wyatt what he needs and if Wyatt needs to be taken out of his head then he’ll do that, he’ll shove him down onto the bed and get his hand around Wyatt’s throat.

But wanting it a little rough, knowing that Wyatt only cares about this as (sort of) friends with benefits, knowing Wyatt’s cut up over Jess and Rufus and blaming himself—that’s different from what he’s been seeing. From how Wyatt will volunteer for the dangerous shit, the way Wyatt picks fights with Rittenhouse goons, suggest plans that are close to suicide missions.

Flynn lost a wife and a child. He’s not losing Wyatt.

“So what if I am?” Wyatt challenges. “That’s my business.”

“I’m your teammate,” Flynn growls. “You start putting yourself in harm’s way, kind of becomes my business. You could get hurt.”

Wyatt rolls his eyes, reaches for him. “C’mon can we just go back to—”

Flynn pulls back. “Wyatt. I’m not—I can’t do this.”

“Can’t do what? Can’t fuck me?”

Flynn shakes his head. “I’m not going to be with someone who’s got a death wish.”

“It’s not—that’s not—” Wyatt looks away.

He’s always been shit at lying.

Flynn reaches out, pushes his hand through Wyatt’s hair. “You’re hurting yourself,” he whispers. “Wyatt…” His hand drags down, cups Wyatt’s cheek, guides Wyatt’s face up to look at him. “It’s not…”

“Don’t say it’s not my fault.” Wyatt’s voice is raw and rough. “We both know it is, we both know…”

“I’m not–I wasn’t going to say that. Look.” Flynn takes a deep breath, swallows his temper, steps in. Cups Wyatt’s face. “Self pity isn’t going to help anyone. Hurting yourself isn’t going to help anyone. Getting yourself killed _definitely_ isn’t going to help.”

“Like you’d miss me.”

“Don’t you dare decide what I would and wouldn’t feel, Wyatt Logan.” Flynn’s growl is dangerous. “I’m allowed to miss you if I want. You don’t get to project your own self-loathing onto me or anyone else. Look, you want to fix this? You want to make it right?”

Wyatt hesitates for a moment, then nods, staring up into Flynn’s eyes, looking flayed and raw.

“Then you stop hurting yourself and you work to be the team member we need. The friend Rufus needs. And we keep reaching out to Jess. It’s not too late, okay? But you help no one if you just find ways to get yourself hurt.”

Wyatt glances down at the ground. “That’s not why I’m with you,” he mumbles.

“…what?”

Wyatt shuffles his feet. “I’m not with you because you’re rough. I mean, I ask you to be rough, because. But that’s not why I’m with you. Just so you know.”

That’s… that’s a relief that Flynn didn’t even know he needed. “Then why are you with me?”

Wyatt gives a wet laugh. “Well—I can’t be with Lucy and I can’t blame her, and I figured I’d get myself killed soon so why not be with the other person I want? The other person—” He cuts himself off.

Flynn steps in, kisses him softly, as softly as he wants. Wyatt makes a desperate, wounded noise like Flynn’s stabbed him and presses in eagerly, shaking all over, asking for more.

Flynn wraps his arms around him, gentle, oh so gentle, kissing and kissing until Wyatt’s pliant, and if a few tears slip free, Flynn’s not gonna tell on him. “Let’s just sleep, okay?” he whispers.

Wyatt nods.

“And maybe let me bandage you up?”

Wyatt makes a face, but nods again.

Flynn checks over the bruises and the scrapes, applies antiseptic, band-aids, and a few kisses over the tender spots. Curls himself around Wyatt when it’s all done and feels Wyatt’s heartbeat under his palm. Wyatt falls asleep quickly, but Flynn stares out into the darkness for a while, just listening to Wyatt breathing, idly stroking Wyatt’s hair and kissing his bruised knuckles.

He knows the need to be battered, the need for someone to knock him for six because he blames himself and it feels like an oversight of justice that he’s still alive. But he’s not letting Wyatt go down the same path.

He’ll get Wyatt to a better place if he has to drag him.


	9. Flynn/Wyatt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/184118084133/wyatt-crying-himself-to-sleep-in-flynns-arms

Flynn has long resigned himself to the idea of insomnia.

When it hits, he does something quiet around the bunker. He’ll bake, or clean the bathroom, or read another history book and make notes of possible Rittenhouse targets. Might as well be productive instead of staring up at the ceiling.

Usually, he’s alone. Sometimes Jiya joins him and they played card games–something ridiculous like Go Fish or War—and he doesn’t ever ask, but she’ll tell him what the vision was, her voice low. Even more rarely it’s Lucy, and she just pads in and he turns on the television and she curls up in his arms, and he plays with her hair, and they don’t say anything but once she pressed a soft kiss to his neck and the morning after she always looks softer around the edges, giving him tiny, secret smiles over morning coffee.

Twice Mason has shown up with the sole intention of getting drunk. They talked about Europe, those times, and stupid Americans, and getting old, and bitching about Brexit.

Tonight, Flynn’s pretty sure it’ll just be him. They’re all in a weird mood today after the mission, and Flynn can’t quite pinpoint why. Someone must’ve started it. They feed off each other’s emotions in this tight space, but he can’t figure out who patient zero was this time.

In any case, Rufus and Jiya are being especially touchy tonight and not in a sex way, and he suspects even if Jiya wakes up, she won’t want to leave Rufus’s arms. Lucy took an armful of history books into her room so she’ll be overworking herself again by the light of her desk lamp. Denise went home, of course, and Mason’s been playing records again which means he’s not to be disturbed unless the nuclear apocalypse has arrived.

So, Flynn gets out some supplies and makes blueberry muffins, because he wants to, and because Rufus likes them, and he’s just popped them into the oven when Wyatt wanders in.

Wyatt has never stayed up with Flynn before. Neither has Rufus, for that matter, but it’s very different when it’s Wyatt.

A lot of things are different with Wyatt.

Flynn stares, and Wyatt stares back, clearly not expecting anyone else up.

“…hey,” Flynn says, feeling wrong footed and awkward and, oddly, like he’s fifteen again and wondering if his best friend would kill him if he leaned in and kissed him.

Wyatt stares, then looks at the oven. “…wait, you’re the one doing all the baking?”

“Who’d you think it was?”

“I thought Denise brought ‘em. Michelle stress bakes.”

“Ah. No. Insomnia.”

“Right.”

They stare a moment more, and Flynn realizes Wyatt’s been silent all day, and thinks he knows who started the latest Bunker Funk. “What is it? Iraq?”

Wyatt snorts. “I fuckin’ wish.”

Flynn gets it. Dreams of war are at least somewhat familiar territory, easy demons to slay in the sense that you know all their moves. You’ve done this dance before.

The timer goes off and Flynn takes the muffins out, sets them to cool. “You don’t have to tell m—”

“I want to.” Wyatt speaks in a rush. “Sorry. Uh.” He winces. “I just. You’re the only one—it’s been nine months, today.”

Flynn honestly has no clue what Wyatt’s talking about for a second, and then it hits him. “Jess.”

Wyatt looks away, his chest heaving in that odd way that Flynn knows means Wyatt’s trying not to breathe through the tears. “I always promised myself—my old man was a shit, right? And my mom skipped town. Meth was more important than her kid. So I always told myself, y’know, someday… someday when I’m a dad, I’m gonna be so much better. I’m gonna be there right from the start and I’m gonna make that kid feel like the—the most precious thing in the world. The most important person in the world.”

Flynn gets that. Asher was no picnic, and Maria loved him, he knows she did, but he also grew up with the ghost of Gabriel in her eyes and there were times when it was hard not to feel second best. The moment Iris was laid in his arms, he knew he’d burn the world for her.

Flynn glances around. He’s done the dishes, the muffins are fine until morning… God, this is such a stupid idea, a monumentally stupid idea, they’ve all done enough bed hopping already, but…

“I was about to try for some shut eye,” he says. “Would you like to, ah, you could join.”

It took him months to get used to an empty bed after Lorena. Wyatt’s probably still adjusting to that, after Jess. Maybe just having someone to hold and be held by will help, since Flynn can’t very well give Wyatt his child back.

Wyatt nods, looking ashamed that Flynn has to offer such comfort. “You don’t…”

“I know I don’t have to.” Flynn walks past him, leading the way. “I don’t offer if I’m not serious.”

Wyatt follows him back like a lost puppy, head bowed, and if he was a puppy he’d probably be whuffling and doing that pathetic puppy whine that activates the paternal instincts of humans everywhere. The bed isn’t big, but they’ll make do. Flynn strips down to boxers, gets in first, and lifts the covers for Wyatt to follow.

Wyatt curls into him, and Flynn thinks it’s a bit of a miracle that Wyatt’s not making a huge deal about this men-touching-men thing, but then, Wyatt’s not exactly in his usual mind tonight. Flynn drapes his arm over Wyatt, pulls him in, and Wyatt actively clings.

“I don’t care about—about anything,” Wyatt whispers. “I just—I just want my kid, I just want—she can have the divorce, she can have whatever she wants, but I want my child, I want to be a dad—”

Flynn knows that ache, knows the fiery stab of grief that comes every time he inhales. He’d give anything for just one more second with his baby girl. “It’s not too late,” he replies. He rubs Wyatt’s back, remembers how he’d do that for Lorena. “There’s still a chance.”

He feels something wet splashing onto his collarbone, but doesn’t comment. He doesn’t want to embarrass Wyatt. “’m sorry,” Wyatt mutters.

“Don’t be.” Flynn has to resist the stupid, sudden urge to press a kiss into Wyatt’s hair. The guy’s been a pain in the ass but the past few months he’s gotten a lot better and Flynn doesn’t want to—can’t afford to—look at any feelings, not when he’s already hung up over Lucy and none of them need another romantic Gordian knot.

Wyatt shudders from head to toe, presses his face into Flynn’s neck, and cries silently for a while. Flynn just keeps rubbing his back, holding him, wishing he knew what to say but knowing that if nothing else, it helps to know that there’s someone else who knows your loss.

Eventually—he doesn’t know when—Wyatt falls asleep. Flynn just keeps holding him, and manages to follow not long after.

In the morning, Wyatt just blushes and apologizes again, tear tracks still clear on his face, and he won’t quite meet Flynn’s eyes. But he stops by after that, more and more often, sometimes crying but not always, just curling into him the way Lucy does, and it’s… it’s something.

It’s something.


	10. Jiya & Flynn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/184123853248/if-you-feel-like-it-platonic-murdervision-where

Jiya’s getting better at her visions.

Really, she is. She can enter them on purpose now, and get more details out of them, control what she sees and where she goes. But that’s only when she’s awake.

When she’s asleep, it’s another matter entirely.

She tries not to wake Rufus. He’s got enough on his mind and after Chinatown… she doesn’t want to scare him. But neither can she just ignore what she sees. The deaths or possible deaths, the missions, the possibilities spiraling out and the terrible, awful power in her hands to tell or not to tell…

No wonder she can’t get to sleep after.

She doesn’t know how bad Flynn’s nights are, and if they just happen to be up on the same nights or if he’s up every night, but every time she slips out of Rufus’s arms and goes into the main area he’s there, up to something. Sometimes reading, taking notes, sometimes baking. He always gives her treats fresh out of the oven—cookies with milk, scones with butter.

Jiya’s not sure who suggested a card game, but she likes it. It’s just engaging enough to keep her thoughts from being too loud but it doesn’t require too much thought from her tired brain. She teaches him Pazaac, that ridiculous Star Wars card game that Rufus loves, and Flynn takes to it easily, the two of them going back and forth for hours over a plate of snickerdoodles.

Flynn never asks if she’s okay. He never speaks at all, unless she starts. He doesn’t pry her for details, or judge, or want to dissect the meaning of it all, and he doesn’t tell her that it’s all gonna be fine.

He’s just there with her.

She never tells him, but, her father—before he died—he would play Jenga with her. Just silently, neither of them saying anything. Her father didn’t always fit into this world. He’d done what so many had, come to the States with his bride in order to find a better life, and he’d been so very proud of his daughter but he’d known that the white people of this country would rather he were invisible, and he felt it keenly. He wasn’t a man for words even in his native tongue, his slippery grasp of English embarrassing him. And so Jiya learned to understand the silences, to read them as well as any computer code, to pick up the thread of them and find the beauty and the bugs.

When she’s with Flynn, it reminds her of those times. And if she is just a glitch in the Matrix, then it’s nice to know that she’s a glitch at least one person understands. Flynn takes care of her, and with him she feels like a kid again, but in a good way—a _bandaid over a scraped knee, I made your favorite dinner, let me tuck you in_ kind of way.

Inevitably, she falls asleep, her head bobbing, nearly falling off the chair. And Flynn cleans up the cards and the dishes and guides her back to her room, makes sure she gets in without tripping over something.

One night, she isn’t even thinking—and at the door she turns, hugs him, wraps her arms right around his middle. Her father was shorter than her by an inch, something he would fondly complain about. But his hugs felt like a warm blanket, and so do Flynn’s.

He hugs her for a good few seconds, then gently pulls away and looks at her, and as always, says nothing.

But that’s okay. He doesn’t need to.

She’s seen her wedding, and she knows he’s the one giving her away.


	11. Jess/Amy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/184078377278/another-jamy-prompt-for-good-measure-this-one

Amy got up to wash out the coffee cups. “Seriously, Lucy—”

The front door opened and Jess entered, carrying takeout. “Hey, thought I’d stop by and get that chicken tikka marsala you—hey Lucy!” Jess said, pausing as she caught sight of Lucy at the table.

“Mama!” Joy yelled from Lucy’s lap, scrambling down to run over and give Jess a hug.

“Hey, Jess,” Lucy said—and then an odd look crossed her face.

“…Lucy?” Amy asked, paused.

Lucy launched herself out of her chair and dashed into the bathroom. Tell-tale retching sounds followed.

One quick run to the drugstore later, and Amy was sitting with Lucy in the bathroom while Jess put Joy to bed. “Do you know whose it is?” she asked.

Lucy shook her head. “It could be either, we haven’t been using protection—I forgot to up my shot, we didn’t—we should’ve talked about it more.”

“But they’ll be happy.”

Lucy’s eyes shone, and she tore her gaze away from the stick to look up at Amy. “Flynn’s always wanted to be a father again and Wyatt–you’ve seen him with Joy.”

Wyatt adored the ground his daughter walked on, it was true.

After Lucy had gone home, Amy collapsed on the couch. Jess joined her a moment later, dragging Amy’s legs over her lap and wrapping an arm around Amy’s shoulders.

“She seem happy?” Jess asked quietly.

Amy nodded.

Silence fell, but not the usual comfortable silence–the sort of silence where something was waiting to be said.

At last, Jess said quietly, “do you think you’d ever want one of your own?”

Amy frowned. “I have Joy, with you.”

“I know, but… Joy’s Wyatt’s kid, too. And—we didn’t plan it, it just happened and the timing was–and the pregnancy and the first few months, I thought—I could die, my baby could die, at any moment and then we were in the bunker and… I didn’t get all of the… the things I wanted, the happy… anticipation, and planning, with a partner.” Jess swallowed. “Wyatt’s the father of my child and he’s in Joy’s life and I wouldn’t trade that. But he’s not my partner. He’s not my spouse. You are.”

Amy stared at her. “Are… are you saying you want to have a kid together?”

“If… if you want.” Jess nervously would a lock of Amy’s hair around her fingers. “It could be mine, or I could carry your egg. I figured—we’d get a sperm donor, for the father.”

“You sure? Because I was thinking we could ask Rufus…”

Jess stared at her for a beat, then laughed. “Are—does this mean you’d want one?”

Amy shrugged. “I hadn’t thought about it. But…” Jess holding a baby, rocking it to sleep, another little sibling for Joy, watching Jess dote on them… “If you want one, then I want one. I want you to have everything that you want, everything that’ll make you happy, and I think–I think it would be nice.”

“We don’t have to decide right away. We can think about it.”

Amy kissed her cheek. “I love you, Jess. I want to have a baby with you.”

Jess smiled at her, eyes wet, and Amy thought she’d cross oceans of glass for that smile. “I love you too.”


	12. Flynn/Wyatt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/184052516068/since-flogan-dreams-are-now-my-kryptonite
> 
> This ficlet references events that take place during season three of the fan project timeless-season-three, which you can find on tumblr @timeless-season-four.

Flynn’s startled awake as Wyatt tries to slip out of bed again, unnoticed. As if Flynn hasn’t felt Wyatt slipping out every night this week.

He catches him by the wrist. “Wyatt.”

Wyatt starts, falls back, looks at him. Flynn sees Wyatt’s pupils blown wide, his chest heaving, face ashen. Shit.

“Hey, hey.” Flynn pulls him in. “Whatever it was, it’s not real.”

He and Wyatt sort of… fell into bed together after Stonewall. They haven’t put a label on anything, partly because they’re both hopelessly in love with Lucy and partly because Flynn thinks Wyatt might spook like a blind horse if he so much as thought the word ‘boyfriend’ at him, but every night, Wyatt’s in his arms.

It’s dangerous, how much he likes it.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

Wyatt shakes his head and clings all the harder to him.

Flynn nods. “All right, then.” They’ve both got plenty of ghosts between them.

“Headshot,” Wyatt blurts out, like the word is yanked out of him. “You were hanging upside down, from this–this thing, this fucking— _thing_ , and you’d been shot right in the head and just—just left there like some—like a piece of meat, like—”

“Hey, hey, Wyatt—” _Sweetheart, draga, honey._ “—it’s not real. I’m here.”

Wyatt holds onto him, and shakes.

* * *

Later on, when he refuses to talk and Temple aims the gun, Flynn thinks, _oh_ , and realizes that maybe Jiya’s not the only one with visions.

* * *

Wyatt goes down the corridor and isn’t sure if he’s awake or asleep.

He’s been here before.

He knows this hallway, this door, this room. Knows what he’ll find inside.

He blasts it open and goes in, unable to stop himself, feet drawn inexorably forward just like in his dreams, a rollercoaster with a deadly drop and he can’t get off.

There, upside down, blood, headshot, just like in his dream.

“Wyatt.” Denise on the comm., but this time he’s not waking up, it’s not Flynn saying his name, Flynn can’t protect him now, Flynn can’t hold him now— “Wyatt, what’s going on?”

“He’s dead.” He doesn’t understand if he’s awake or asleep or in some kind of Hell. “Denise, he’s dead.”

* * *

Much later, as Jiya and Lucy hug him so hard he feels his ribs crack, he hears that he died. Temple killed him, and he died.

He looks over Lucy’s head and meets Wyatt’s eyes. Wyatt’s face is ashen.

“Headshot?” Flynn can’t help it.

“Yes,” Jiya replies, apparently not questioning why he’d ask.

Flynn lets out a shaky breath as Wyatt sits down slowly and he knows that night, neither of them are getting much sleep.


	13. Wyatt/Flynn/Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/184052295048/prompt-garcyatt-aurthurian-legend-au

“No,” Lucy snapped. With all the other knights dismissed from the room, she could be honest. “I’m not going to just… just wait here at home while you two risk your lives over this stupid quest!”

“Lucy…” Flynn scrubbed at his forehead. “We can’t not go on it, a challenge was issued…”

“To hell with the challenge!” Lucy wanted to break the damn table, the throne itself, shake the foundations of Camelot itself. “You are the king, you can make the rules!”

“If we go making rules to suit our whims then how are we not tyrants?” Flynn replied.

“Think of your people, then.” Lucy folded her arms. “You need to be here to lead them, to handle the grain for the winter.”

Wyatt looked from one to the other, clearly not knowing which side to take—that of his queen, the one that everyone had seen him falling for at the tournament, the one he’d given his favor to—or that of his king, the one nobody had seen him falling for as they’d sparred together, as they’d bent over the maps of the territory together, the one he’d given his loyalty to.

Well, Lucy wasn’t losing either of them. “This is just a ploy by Rittenhouse to get us to leave Camelot undefended.”

“Either way, we lose,” Wyatt pointed out. “We answer the quest, we leave Camelot open for attack. We stay here, we look like cowards.”

Flynn sat down on the throne, looking tired. Lucy hated that. He should never look tired, he should look triumphant. She crossed to him, sitting in his lap, stroking her fingers through his hair. Flynn looked up at her, and she knew—he might have been the king but he wanted her to make this choice. After so many years of fighting, he couldn’t make all the decisions alone anymore.

And Lucy wasn’t going to lose her king and knight the way she’d lost her sister.

“You’ll stay here,” Lucy announced. She looked over at Wyatt, who nodded, ever loyal. “We can’t abandon our people and they’ll appreciate you thinking of their welfare over your pride. Let me take the blame, call me a shrew, say I threatened to ban you from the bed, whatever it takes.”

“We’re not saying that,” Wyatt protested.

“You will if it’s what we must.” They were already playing fast and loose, having Wyatt in their bed. Lucy kissed Flynn’s forehead gently.

“This is why you were born to rule,” Flynn noted wryly.

“I’ll alert the men,” Wyatt said.

Lucy nodded. “Come to the bedchamber after.”

Wyatt flushed slightly, then nodded, exiting.

Lucy looked down at her husband. “Garcia…”

Flynn took her knuckles, kissing them. “Dear heart. We can’t go around avoiding these things forever. Eventually we’ll have to meet our challengers. Sitting safe in a castle isn’t the way to win.”

“I know.” She hated how her voice trembled. “But just for a little longer.” Let her have them for just a little longer.


	14. Flynn/Wyatt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/184051349823/im-in-angst-hell-right-now-so-flogan-prompt

_Exploding heat. The air itself burns. “Flynn!”_

Wyatt woke up in a sweat.

Jesus, what was that?

Wyatt left Jess’s side and went into the bathroom to splash water on his face. That had been a hell of a nightmare—but not any war memory. Not even the old nightmares of losing Jess, or of what Rittenhouse was doing while Lucy was their prisoner. This was different.

Flynn. An explosion, somewhere that looked vaguely familiar. Death. His own panicked voice, screaming, hoarse, blood under his hands, a feeling of immense loss.

Wyatt looked at himself in the mirror. Just a dream, Logan. A weird-ass dream.

But it kept happening.

_“Flynn! No, no, Flynn, hey, stay with me, you gotta stay with me, fuck–Lucy stay back, stay back—”_

Why was he dreaming of losing Flynn, of all people? Why did he sound so heartbroken?

Jess noticed the dreams but bought his lie about PTSD. He had so much shit he was already dealing with, he didn’t need to worry about his wife wondering why he was dreaming about the death of his teammate.

_“Hey, hey, stay with me, Flynn, please, hey, no, I love you, stay with me—”_

“Jiya?”

Jiya looked up from where she was doing some math equations. “Yeah?”

Wyatt shuffled his feet. “When you, uh, have your visions, what do you—is it always the future?”

Jiya frowned thoughtfully, tapping her pencil against the table. “Mostly, yeah. Sometimes I see these—Stanley called them forbidden colors. I think—I think it might be alternate timelines. Or… timelines that might have been. Kind of like Scrooge.”

“Could someone else do that? In… in dreams?”

Jiya narrowed her eyes. “Why, you been dreaming about Rittenhouse’s next move?”

Wyatt shook his head, grabbing a chair and sitting down. “No, I dream about—it’s an explosion, somewhere and I know that I’ve been there before, but this hasn’t happened—not yet, anyway—and Flynn—Flynn’s dead.”

“Huh.” Jiya thought for a moment, tilted her head, then set her pencil down. “Okay. I’m not the best at this yet but…”

Her eyes rolled back into her head before Wyatt can stop her and he yelped, darting forward to make sure she didn’t fall as she shook slightly, her eyes white and almost glowing.

A moment later she sat up, her chest heaving, gasping. “Oh shit,” Jiya gasped. “Oh, holy shit. Wow. Okay.”

“Okay what? Are you? Just stay there.” Wyatt ran and got a glass of water, bringing it back for Jiya to sip slowly.

“I think that was a—a might have been,” Jiya croaked. “A forbidden color.”

“What do you mean?”

“You—you and Flynn, the 1950s, Rittenhouse meeting,” Jiya said, gulping the water down. “You argued, he did a suicide mission, blew it all up with him inside. You were yelling for him—”

“I told him I loved him.”

Jiya looked at him and nodded. “Yeah. You did. Begged him to stay with you.”

Wyatt sat back down in the chair, his legs shaking dangerously. “But I’m…” Straight? That was a lie. “I…” Hate Flynn? Also a lie. “Jess.”

“I guess in this timeline she stayed dead.” Jiya shrugged.

“But I loved him.”

“Yes.” Jiya looked a little sad. “Very, very deeply. I could feel that. I think…” She rubbed at her temples. “I think maybe—all this time traveling—I don’t think this is the first time we’ve tried to stop Rittenhouse. I think we’ve tried a few times. And most of it’s erased but—but some of it, like an echo, or…”

She scribbled down on the paper: _Flynn dies_. Then she erased it, and held up the paper. “Like this.”

Held up to the light, the faint indents and markings of the pencil could still be seen.

“We can erase it, scrub it down and start over, but you can’t undo the indents. Not really. So they remain somehow.” Jiya set the paper down.

“Like in dreams.”

She nodded.

Wyatt wasn’t sure if he was going to pass out or throw up. “…thanks, Jiya. Could you… could this stay just between us?”

Jiya nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Wyatt got up and walked out. He had to go… somewhere, clear his head…

He bumped right into Flynn.

“Whoa.” Flynn reached out a hand, steadying him. “You okay there?”

Wyatt didn’t know what his face looked like, and he didn’t want to know. He looked up at Flynn—looked up at the man he’d loved, in a previous timeline.

Loved enough that the indents were still there, screaming out to him in his dreams.

How could Wyatt even begin to tell him? _You died in the 1950s, once. You died and I screamed your name until my voice was hoarse. You died with me begging you to stay, you died with me thinking how much it hurt to love you, you died and now you’re here and I know the other me would throw everything away to be with you again but I can’t, I can’t, I can’t do that, I have Jess and I have Lucy and I don’t even know how and you hate me anyway._

“Wyatt?” Flynn looked genuinely concerned. “Do you need something? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Wyatt replied. “Just, y’know, long day.”

Flynn nodded, dropping his hand, and Wyatt finished walking back to his room. His room with Jess.

It was another lifetime, he told himself. He had Jess now. He had Lucy, whatever that was or had been or could be. He didn’t owe this other version of himself anything, he wasn’t going to make a mess pursuing this.

_“Stay with me, I love you, please, I love you, stay with me—”  
_

_“…you can’t undo the indents. Not really. So they remain…”_

Flynn wasn’t anything to him, and he wasn’t anything to Flynn.

It was fine.


	15. Wyatt/Flynn/Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/184049980053/prompt-garcyatt-as-pta-parents-trying-to-set-up

Flynn neatly maneuvers the folded table around the scattered chairs and children and opens it, setting it down.

“Tata!”

“One second, Iris.”

Iris is not known for her patience, and starts tugging at him. “I want to play with J.J.!”

“Okay, go ahead.”

He watches out of the corner of his eye as Iris runs over to a small blond, who’s sitting next to her father.

Jessica Joy was named after her mother, but goes by J.J., unless she’s in trouble in which case the double name will sound throughout the school. Flynn feels this is a little unfair, seeing as Iris is usually the instigator of such pranks. He waves awkwardly at Wyatt Logan, the girl’s father, who is far too attractive and far too soft for Flynn’s own good.

Wyatt, to Flynn’s panic, jogs over. “I got the bakers sorted,” he pants. “But Emma’s on the warpath.”

“When is she not?” Flynn mutters.

“Just, if you see her coming, hide me?”

“I’ll fight for your honor if necessary,” Flynn replies dryly. Wyatt gives him a smile that makes Flynn’s stomach flip-flop.

“I’m gonna kill her!” Lucy Preston hisses as her niece-slash-adopted-daughter Amy zooms past her to demand a piggyback ride from the older Iris.

“Emma?” Flynn and Wyatt ask in chorus.

Lucy grabs two fistfuls of Flynn’s shirt and his heart tries to fling itself out of his chest and lay itself at her feet. “I want her head on a platter.”

“Medium or well done?”

“ _Hercules_!” Wyatt says, triumphant at having caught the quote and then deflating as he realizes it means he’s been watching entirely too many Disney movies with J.J.

Flynn grins at him as Lucy’s fists turn into palms, smoothing over his chest absently, and Flynn nearly has a stroke. “It’s a bake sale,” Lucy hisses. “There’s no reason for her to have a stick up her ass!”

“Just run against her for head of the PTA next year,” Wyatt suggests. “You’d be good at it.”

“In the meantime,” Flynn says, finally drawing attention to why he’s the only one who has yet to set up his table, “we can content ourselves with the knowledge that her car won’t start.”

“Why won’t her car start?” Wyatt asks.

Flynn raises an eyebrow at him.

“Oh my God, you sabotaged her car!?” Lucy hisses. “I could kiss you!”

Flynn stares at her, and Wyatt stares at both of them, and the world stops a little, and then Lucy goes scarlet, and mumbles something along the lines of, “Never mind,” just as Flynn blurts out “I mean if you _want—_ ”

Iris gallops by, giving Amy a piggyback, breaking the moment as Flynn yells, “Slow down!” and J.J. rushes after them, wiggling between the adults and announcing, “Eww they’re being all mushy at each other again!”

It’s very awkward for a good ten seconds until Lucy runs a hand through her hair and blurts, “Fuck’s sake. Okay. Um. Would you two like to come over to discuss the PTA coup? A revolution to wrest control from Emma? And, uh, maybe when you came over there could be dinner and Jiya and Rufus could be watching the kids and one of you could bring wine?”

Flynn gapes, and Wyatt’s now absolutely red in the face. Lucy looks down at her hands and Flynn swallows, his throat tight, and manages a croak of, “Yes.”

Wyatt nods dumbly, looking like someone’s hit him over the head with a frying pan.

“No pressure, I mean,” Lucy adds hastily.

“Right.” Flynn looks at Wyatt, who he’d thought was straight. “Would you—” If Wyatt just wants to share Lucy that’s fine by him, but…

“Yes,” Wyatt blurts out. “I mean. Uh.”

“You didn’t let me finish the question.” Flynn feels a smile tugging up the corner of his mouth.

“It’s going to be yes,” Wyatt replies, eyes very bright and very soft.

The three of them stare at one another for a moment until Emma yells, “Where the _fuck_ is the rest of the PTA!” at which point Amy, young enough to still be somewhat in the ‘repeating everything adults say’ phase, starts yelling, “fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!” and it’s all chaos again.

But Flynn can’t wipe the smile off his face for anything.


	16. Wyatt/Flynn/Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/184049288063/ooh-this-could-be-fun-garcyatt-vacation

Lucy lounges on the bed, flipping through the travel brochures. “Okay, so, the Middle East is out.”

Wyatt and Flynn nod. Both of them, but especially Wyatt, have too many memories to go back there right now.

“How about we head up north, stop in Budapest? Vienna?”

“It might be too cold,” Wyatt says, flopping onto the bed next to her.

“I’ll keep you warm, _Schnecke_ ,” Flynn teases, running his hand through Wyatt’s hair.

“Ha ha ha. I say we hit up Greece and Italy next.”

They’re starting in Croatia. Flynn’s wanted to take them to his home for ages. And since they’re already out and traveling, why not hit up as many other places as they can? They’ve been plenty of places in history, although never taking as many moments to marvel over things as Lucy would’ve liked, but this will be a chance to see it all today—and there’s something to be said for that, for valuing the present moment, the one she was naturally given.

Not that they haven’t borrowed the Mothership to visit things like Versailles when it was in use, or the library of Alexandria. But she wants to see the world as it is now instead of always living in the past.

“Greece and Italy,” Flynn muses, sitting on the bed, his hand still petting through Wyatt’s hair. “Up to Spain? Portugal?”

Lucy nods. She’d like that.

Flynn smiles at her, oh so softly, and Lucy manages to smile back. She feels more like herself lately, more like she can release the threads of guilt and resentment and anger that weigh her down, and she has energy again, looks forward to things again, wants things again, like this vacation.

“Just s’long as they’ve got beaches,” Wyatt mumbles drowsily.

Lucy kisses his temple and then rolls onto her back, smiling up at Flynn. “All the beaches you want, sweetheart,” she assures Wyatt, and Flynn smiles down at her, already mentally planning the places in Croatia he’ll take them, she’s sure, and Lucy starts to feel like she’s learning how to breathe again.


	17. Wyatt/Flynn/Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/184046028868/prompt-garcyatt-at-hogwarts

“You’re staring,” Flynn notes idly.

Lucy has, in fact, been staring, while lounging against Flynn’s chest and letting him stroke her hair. It’s a warm spring day and everyone’s outside, and they’re at their favorite spot under a tree by the lake, supposedly doing homework but really just trading lazy kisses and soaking up the sun like cats.

“You’ve been staring too,” she retorts. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you watch him during Potions.”

The ‘him’ that they’re discussing is Wyatt Logan, a Gryffindor, and while Lucy would usually never sleep with a Gryffindor on pure principle, Wyatt is this delightfully blushy puppy who looks quite dashing during Quidditch and would, she suspects, look wonderful all mussed and panting after a good kiss.

It’s thoughts like this that make Flynn say she should’ve been with him in Slytherin, but the Sorting Hat let her choose and Lucy chose Ravenclaw and that matters more to her than she could quite possibly ever admit—being given that choice.

Mother was quite upset that Lucy wasn’t in Slytherin like the rest of the family (and yet only put up half a fuss when Amy was sorted into Gryffindor two years later). But Lucy stands by her choice. It’s one of the few choices she’s gotten in life.

“Do you think he’d even be interested?” Flynn asks.

“I think so. It needs a careful touch, I don’t think he’s admitted that he likes you.”

“Oh, he likes me, does he? Could’ve fooled me with all the glaring.”

“It’s because he likes you that he glares, Garcia. And you aren’t exactly easy to have a crush on.”

“You managed just fine.”

“Do I really need to remind you of our disastrous first year?”

Flynn snorts, still running his fingers through her hair. “No.” He raises her and to his lips, kisses her knuckles fondly.

Lucy loves him impossibly.

“I think you should approach him,” Flynn goes on.

“I don’t want him just for a night, Garcia, I think we could keep him if we’re careful.”

“So, what, the long game?”

“Yes.” Lucy reaches out with her wand, and mutters a spell.

The ball that Wyatt and Dave Baumgardner have been playing with goes sailing wide, over Rufus and Jiya’s heads, and rolls to a stop at Lucy’s feet.

She stuffs her wand in her robes as Wyatt comes running up. “Sorry about that,” he says. He’s blushing, carefully avoiding their eyes.

“No trouble at all,” Lucy purrs. “We have Ancient Runes together, don’t we?”

“Yes?”

“Well, I’m not allowed to have Garcia as my partner since we’re dating.” A blatant lie, but whatever. “Perhaps you’d care to be my partner for the midterm presentation?”

Wyatt’s blush deepens. “I—um—sure.”

“Oh good.” Lucy smiles sweetly at him. “Library, four o’clock tomorrow?”

“Ah, yeah, that’s—sure.”

“Find a nice quiet corner where we won’t be disturbed.”

Wyatt looks like he might pass out. “O-okay,” he manages, his voice strangled, and then he’s running off again, ball clutched in a death grip in his hand.

“I suppose you’d like me to crash this study session halfway through?” Flynn notes.

“Oh, yes. And be sure to wear burgundy. It’s your best color.”

This will be _quite_ fun.


	18. Wyatt/Flynn/Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/184045726658/how-bout-a-flogan-or-garcyatt-something

The one good thing about the bunker is that it’s in the middle of nowhere, which means the night sky is dark and clear, and you can see the stars.

It helps, when Lucy’s feeling like the walls are closing in. Flynn figured out how to disable the front door alarm, and so she sneaks up here, lies down in the grass, feels impossibly small and insignificant in a vast and infinite universe, and somehow, that helps.

It doesn’t occur to her that maybe she’s not the only one who needs this until she’s sneaking out one night and hears voices that make her freeze.

“That one doesn’t even look like anything.”

Wyatt.

“Well hey you want a really fun one? That’s Triangulum, right next to Andromeda.”

Flynn.

“…it’s a triangle.”

“Exactly.”

“You’re shitting me.”

Lucy finishes walking up, and sees Wyatt and Flynn lying on the grass. Wyatt’s curled into Flynn’s side, his head on Flynn’s shoulder, as Flynn points out the constellations.

“No, that’s a real constellation.” There’s a pause, then: “How about this, I tell you constellations and you guess if they’re real or fake and if you get it right, you get a kiss.”

“You’re on.”

Lucy’s heart hammers in her throat. She and Wyatt are tentatively friends now, after everything, although she suspects he still harbors thoughts of more, and she and Flynn are… they’ve managed to declare feelings for each other without using so many words and it’s as if both of them are standing on the edge of a cliff daring the other one to jump off first.

Wyatt and Flynn, though, it seems have managed to get farther than she has.

Since retreat feels a little impossible at this point, Lucy clears her throat before she witnesses anything that’ll make the men avoid her for a week.

Wyatt jerks to a sitting position, then relaxes upon seeing her. “Luce.”

Flynn looks up. “…Lucy?”

She walks over, sits down on Flynn’s other side. There are a lot of things she could say right now, ranging from _when did this happen_ to _I love you both so much it feels like a cavern inside me_ but instead she just… lies down, curls into Flynn, rests her hand on his chest. “Tell me about the stars,” she says.

Wyatt lies back down, gingerly, and Lucy reaches across, takes his hand, squeezes.

Flynn clears his throat, his arm slowly coming around her shoulders, tucking her more firmly into him. “Right. Uh. So Andromeda…”

Lucy looks up at the stars, and feels small, but not insignificant at all.


	19. Jess/Amy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/184028667173/prompt-if-you-steal-the-blankets-im-going-to

The bunker was a little, ah, crowded lately. Now that Jess was officially back, having defected in the eighth month of pregnancy, and Amy was back, but Wyatt and Jess weren’t sharing a room anymore and Mason refused to share a room (“surely I’m allowed _some_ semblance of the style to which I am accustomed?”) and Jiya refused to stop sharing a room with Rufus and Lucy and Flynn and Wyatt were… uh… sharing? Sort of? Nobody really wanted to ask. The last time Rufus had made a joke about it, Flynn and Wyatt had stopped speaking for a week before destroying the kitchen (how, nobody knew or wanted to know).

Which meant that in the unending shuffle, Amy was now sharing a room with Jess, the infant Sarah asleep in her crib across the room. It was fine, Jess was fine, Jess was, in fact, um… better than fine. Amy was apparently the only one in this bunker who didn’t have some kind of frustration with Jess, and Jess was clearly lonely, so Amy of course would talk to her because Amy was lonely too, with Lucy juggling two men and going on missions all the time, and Jess made Amy sandwiches and smiled at her and brushed Amy’s hair and would make Amy shiver when Jess brushed past her…

Okay, so maybe Amy had a crush.

Sue her.

The thing was, though, Amy also had nightmares. She’d had them since she was a kid and normally she’d crawl into bed with Lucy but… now there were two very big men also sharing with Lucy, and neither of them were all that keen about getting kicked out in the middle of the night by their girlfriend-but-not-girlfriend-because-God-forbid-we-use-labels-or-talk-about-our-feelings’s sister.

And so now, when she woke up in a cold sweat, legs tangled in the sheets, heart hammering, convinced she’d been only seconds away from something dark and slithering and slimy dragging her down into deep liquid pitch, she just… tried to ride it out.

Like tonight. Staring up at the ceiling. Trying to get her breathing back to normal. Telling herself that she was fine, she was _fine_ , none of it was real.

The bed dipped as someone put their weight on it.

“Scoot over.”

Amy started, shifting over automatically as Jess crawled in. “What…”

Jess firmly wrapped her arms around Lucy. “PTSD?”

“No. Night terrors, had them since I was a kid.” Of course, Wyatt, Jess would be used to shit like this.

“Oh.” Jess was very firm against Amy’s back. She could feel every inch of her, solid and warm. Anchoring. “Well, I’m here now.”

She said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You don’t have…”

“Shhh.” Jess pressed a soft kiss to the back of Amy’s shoulder. “You’re fine. But if you steal the blankets, I’m going to put my cold feet on you.”

Amy laughed, which she was pretty sure had been Jess’s intent.

She slept again, and didn’t steal the blankets, although she was pretty sure Jess had managed to steal something else entirely.


	20. Jiya & Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/182142738148/prompt-late-night-conversations-lucy-jiya-or

Jiya was up late again, going over the Lifeboat readings. Lucy knew, because she was also up late again, going over the history books.

“You should go to bed,” she noted, getting up to get another coffee. The circles under Jiya’s eyes were starting to give her raccoon rings. “Rufus must be missing you.”

“And how’s Flynn doing?” Jiya shot back, not even looking up from her computer.

Lucy sighed. She and Flynn were… sharing a room. Platonically.

Yes, it was about as awkward as it sounded. But if he wasn’t going to actually say anything about the two of them consistently waking up cuddling, then well, neither was she. “Do you want some more coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

Lucy started up the machine. “Any luck yet?”

“We need a better power source,” Jiya said. “And better schematics. And room for another chair. And…” She scrubbed a hand over her eyes. “We need a Mothership. A whole makeover.”

Lucy poured the coffee out. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Two sugars, please.”

She made the necessary adjustments and brought the coffee over. “You’ll figure it out, you and Rufus and Connor.”

Jiya took the coffee, sighing. “It’s like we’re in World War I, sending horses up against tanks.”

“I… didn’t know that you knew that about World War I.” It was the last war in which cavalry on horses was used.

“I’ve seen _Warhorse_.”

“Ah.”

Silence fell for a moment. Lucy sipped her coffee. “Look, um. I know that we’re all… busy. And I know it won’t be the same. But… I was thinking maybe you and I could… we could leave the work, tomorrow night? Just have a girls’ night again?”

 _Again_. She and Jiya and Jess used to have regular nights together. Before Jess had betrayed them. Wyatt was still acting like Jess had only betrayed him but she’d been a friend to all of them. Especially Jiya, though, Lucy knew.

Jiya blinked rapidly, looking away. “I… I don’t know.”

“Ah, c’mon. I told you I’m not a huge science fiction person. Educate me. We can watch all the _Star Trek_ you want.”

Jiya gave her a wane smile. “I suppose.”

Lucy smiled back. “Great.”

They sipped their coffee in silence for a little while longer, accompanied only by the soft beeping of the machines.


	21. Jiya & Flynn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/181712832283/prompt-sit-down-rest-either-platonic

Flynn pauses in the doorway.

Ever since Preston and Logan (that’s what they’ve dubbed the future versions of Lucy and Wyatt) arrived with the technology to allow them all to potentially travel on their own timeline and save Rufus, Jiya hasn’t slept a wink. She’s going through every inch of the code, making sure it works, refusing to take even the slightest chance of failure when it comes to Rufus’s life.

Flynn’s been kind of avoiding everyone, to be honest. Logan dragged Wyatt off to the side and gave him some kind of lecture that has Wyatt scuttling around like a terrified lab rat. Preston only looks at Flynn out of the side of her eye, like she can’t bear to look him full in the face, and the look of pain he catches on her in those moments makes his heart ache. Lucy isn’t speaking to Wyatt or anyone really and is camped out on Flynn’s bed but even getting her to eat is a bit of a struggle right now. Mason has made good friends with the vodka.

They’re all falling apart, in other words.

He can’t do anything for Mason, and Wyatt’s shit won’t be worked out by a good talk with Flynn of all people. Preston and Logan freak him out. And Denise is… Denise. He can help her by keeping his head on straight and in the game. But Lucy’s tucked in bed, he made sure she got dinner, and there is one other person he can potentially help here, and dammit he’s going to try. He’s not sure when he became so protective of Jiya but maybe it’s because he knows what she’s going through, or maybe it’s because she’s so goddamn young, younger than the rest of them by at least seven years, and the others seem to forget that because she’s whip smart and mature and a damn hard worker but she’s not even out of her twenties yet, for God’s sake.

“Hey,” he says.

Jiya takes a moment to finish scribbling down an equation of some kind. “Hey yourself. There’s coffee in the pot if you want it.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

Jiya glances at the clock. “Oh. I thought—never mind.”

Flynn walks over to her. “Never mind what?”

“Nothing. Just that I thought it was morning. You’re the first one up, you come in and you make coffee for yourself and Lucy, then you go and bring it to her. Then Denise comes in next.”

“Y’know, losing all sense of time isn’t really a good thing.”

Jiya gives a bitter laugh. “Time. God I hate time.”

Flynn puts his hand on her shoulder, wary that she might shake it off or go so far as to grab his wrist and use it to flip him. Jiya’s learned a thing or two in Chinatown. “Sit down. Rest.”

She shakes him off. “No.” Her voice is strained, thin, reedy. Not like her at all. “I just need—”

“You need _sleep_. You can’t help Rufus if you’re not thinking clearly. You won’t do your best work, you’ll make mistakes, you won’t catch any bugs in the code.”

Jiya braces herself on the counter, her head hanging down. “Flynn…”

“Look, I’m no authority on what Rufus would or wouldn’t want but I’m pretty damn sure he’d want you to get some rest.”

“We don’t have _time_ …”

“We have enough time for this. C’mon. Or I’ll have to sing you a Croatian lullaby and I know you don’t want to have to suffer through that.”

Jiya laughs, a raw, wet sound, but she lets Flynn take her by the shoulders and guide her to her bed–to the room she shared with Rufus.

He just rolls her in with her clothes still on, although she kicks off her shoes. She’s asleep in seconds, possibly before her head hits the pillow.

It’s habit, leftover from Iris, but before he can stop himself he gently pets her hair out of her face. She looks unbearably young like this. Like she’s barely out of her teens.

His heart squeezes. Nothing will replace Iris. And God knows Jiya can take care of herself. But it seems that his heart didn’t truly forget how to be a father.

He turns out the light, and leaves her to it.

The next morning, Jiya’s made him eggs and toast. She doesn’t say anything, just puts the plate down in front of him.

But it’s a start.


	22. Flynn/Wyatt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/181571112073/prompt-flogan-justhold-me

Jess has been in labor for nine hours.

They can’t go to a hospital, because Emma will be tracking it. She knows that Jess is almost due, she knows that the baby’s coming whether they want it to or not, and bonus: none of them are sure what affect time travel will have on a baby, seeing as Jess has been traveling while pregnant.

Jess has got Jiya’s hand in a death grip as Lucy and Denise are doing all that they can. Mason is, of all things, helping Jess with her lamaze breathing, something about learning this at a leadership seminar.

Rufus is just hovering in the corner and doing whatever he’s told.

And Wyatt…

Flynn finds him in the bathroom, gripping the sink, shaking.

Wyatt and Jess aren’t together, now. After about two months of arguing, Jess played double agent, another two months of arguing and she and Wyatt got officially divorced, they spent a month not talking, and now they’re… friends, of a sort, but Jess has called Wyatt some pretty colorful names during the past nine hours and Flynn knows Wyatt’s got ninety-nine problems and worrying about being a good father are all of them, and so he can’t quite blame Wyatt for hiding out like this.

Flynn clears his throat. “Hey.”

Wyatt’s gaze meets his through the mirror. “Is she…?”

“Still going.”

Wyatt swears quietly. His eyes are red and swollen. “She’s—we’re not, together, but she’s the only family I had.”

Lorena’s labor with Iris was complicated–her cervix wouldn’t dilate all the way, which led to an emergency C-section—which was why they never had another kid. Flynn will also be the first to admit he’s paranoid about getting Lucy pregnant, even though she takes her shots faithfully and they have a full box of condoms. He just can’t risk putting her through that, not while she’s traveling through time and getting shot at, even as he longs for another family.

So he gets it, he does, that fear, that sense of absolute helplessness. “What can I do?”

“Make it stop?” Wyatt asks. He winces as one of Jess’s screams comes from the bedroom.

Flynn starts forward, then stops, pauses. He’s not… sure, exactly, what he and Wyatt and Lucy are, now. He and Lucy have been together since the _Titanic_ , and he loves her unbearably, impossibly, and he’s come to stop doubting that she loves him back. But as Wyatt and Jess have drifted into friendship, Wyatt’s drifted into… something, with him and Lucy.

It’s not been an easy road, sure. He and Wyatt argued at least once a day for four weeks until Denise threatened to lock them in a closet until they either killed each other or worked it out. Then they just stopped talking, then Rufus smacked Wyatt on the back of the head (metaphorically but also possibly literally, given how Wyatt was wincing all the next day) and Wyatt started apologizing, and they started having these late-night talks, and now…

Now, his gut kind of goes tight whenever he looks at Wyatt, and he feels something in him soften, and sometimes after those late-night talks Wyatt will kind of list to the side and drop his head onto Flynn’s shoulder, and he hasn’t talked to Lucy about it yet because he knows her own feelings for Wyatt are still a Gordian knot but he knows he probably should…

Not that he even knows if Wyatt would—Wyatt’s straight, as far as Flynn knows.

He dares to walk closer, to put his hand on the sink, almost but not quite touching Wyatt. “It’s the not being able to do anything that hurts, I know,” he says, keeping his voice low and quiet, trying to soothe him. “Do you want to go punch it out?”

He and Wyatt spar with each other now, trying to help Wyatt get better at the hand-to-hand combat.

Wyatt shakes his head. “This is so stupid but could you just… just… hold me?”

Flynn takes a second, not sure if he actually heard that right. “Of course.”

Wyatt turns and Flynn wraps his arms around him, pulling him in. Wyatt grabs onto Flynn’s shoulders, holding tight, still shaking, his head resting in the crook between Flynn’s shoulder and neck. Flynn’s shirt quickly gets damp, and he can feel Wyatt’s chest heaving, even if he never makes a sound.

Flynn rubs his back, and just holds him like that, and keeps holding him, until Lucy bursts in about twenty minutes later, hands and shirt stained red, and blurts out, “It’s a girl, they’re both okay, it’s a girl.”

If she finds it odd that her boyfriend is basically cuddling her ex-almost-sort-of-boyfriend-who-knows-what-he-is-now, she doesn’t say it.

And Wyatt…

Wyatt holds Flynn’s hand, squeezing tightly until Flynn sees Wyatt’s knuckles go white, until they get to the room and Denise guides the tiny bundle into Wyatt’s arms (Jess has, understandably, passed out). Flynn shows him how to hold her, how to support the head, and catches Lucy watching him.

She smiles at him, warm and a bit hopeful, he thinks, her eyes darting to Wyatt, to the baby, back to Flynn.

He smiles back at her as Wyatt sags against him. He puts his arm around Wyatt’s shoulders instinctively, lets Wyatt rest back against him. He keeps holding him, the way Wyatt asked.


	23. Lucy/Flynn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/181354187888/prompt-future-married-garcy-one-of-them-suprises

Lucy really hated finals week.

She knew that the students hated finals week as well and it had been some time but she could still remember what it was like to take finals, and so she sympathized. But sometimes she wished that students would understand that teachers hated the process just as much.

At least when students took finals, they could walk away from them once the test or essay was turned in. She still had to fucking grade them.

When the letters on the papers in front of her began to blur and swim a little, she pushed back from the desk. Okay, maybe a break was in order.

“If you stare at those pages any more intensely, I think they’re going to set themselves on fire,” Flynn noted, amusement clear in his voice.

Lucy looked up to find that her husband was dressed as if to go out—that dark red turtleneck she loved so much, a pair of his nicer jeans, shoes on his feet. Oh, no, they didn’t have some party or something to go to that she’d forgotten about, did they? Were they supposed to go over to Jess and Wyatt’s? Rufus and Jiya? Um…

“I didn’t think I looked all _that_ terrible,” Flynn noted, misinterpreting the look on her face.

“No!” Lucy blurted out. “No, it’s just—I didn’t realize we had plans.”

“Ah. Well, you wouldn’t have, since I didn’t tell you about them.” Flynn walked over and held out his hand. “C’mon.”

She took his hand, letting him pull her to her feet and lead her down the stairs. Flynn graciously passed her a light jacket for her to put on, since December in northern California was certainly not Iceland, but it wasn’t t-shirt weather, either.

“Where are we going?” she asked, automatically looping her arm through her husband’s as they stepped out into the street.

“You’ll see,” Flynn replied, a smile dancing in his eyes. Flynn’s smiles were rare, although not as rare as they’d used to be, but she’d learned to see the warmth in his eyes instead.

They walked for about ten minutes, and then Flynn released her arm and covered her eyes.

Lucy laughed. “Garcia…”

“Keep them closed.”

She obliged him, feeling him take her hands and squeezing gently, then let him lead her. She had no sense of time or space like this, and a part of her wanted to panic at the thought, but Flynn seemed to sense it because he squeezed her hands again, and she let his grip anchor her. She could feel people around them parting as they walked, Flynn’s six foot four frame and _jostle us and you die_ facial expression (she couldn’t see it but she knew it was there) doing more than enough to keep her from getting bumped.

After a while, Flynn stopped. “Hold still,” he said.

She felt a _whoosh_ of warm air as a door was opened, and then Flynn’s hand was at the small of her back, gently guiding her forward.

Lucy stepped into somewhere warm, and then Flynn said, his voice hushed, “Okay, now open.”

She opened her eyes—and inhaled sharply.

They were in a bookstore, but not just any bookstore, one of those used bookstores that she’d fallen in love with and tried to find on their honeymoon in Europe, from the one on the Seine in Paris to the one tucked behind the leather shop in Florence to the counterculture one with the huge sex advice collection in the red light district of Amsterdam.

The displays went above and beyond, books made to look like birds handing suspended from the ceiling, books corkscrewing up into the ceiling. Tucked around the corner was a cozy sitting area with mismatched chairs and a coffee shop, sporting a display case of what looked like lumpy, delicious homemade scones and a simple coffee menu scrawled in chalk on the wall behind, the drinks named after books. There was even a whole second floor with bookshelves stretching up to the ceiling.

“Oh my God,” Lucy blurted out, her voice soft.

“You kept saying you wished there was a place like this back home, so…” Flynn’s cheeks were slightly pink, the way they got whenever he was embarrassed. “And you looked like you needed a break so I thought a little coffee date was in order.”

Lucy grabbed his sweater and yanked him down to kiss him ferociously, ignoring the startled looks of the people around them (she caught one older woman struggling to hide a smile). God, she loved this man. “This is perfect. I might start living here.”

“I’ve awakened a monster.”

Lucy tugged on his arm to lead him to the coffee area. Now that she thought about it she was starving and could go for a scone and a drink.

She’d never told Flynn, but part of why she’d loved those little bookstores was that they were the exact place she imagined she’d meet him, if she met him the usual way. And sometimes she longed for that, for the two of them to just be normal, to fall in love normally, without all the rest of the insanity and the baggage and the missteps and the goddamn time travel and evil cult nonsense. One time she’d even gotten spectacularly drunk and had spilled it all out to Jess and Jiya, crying that really Jiya was the lucky one because she and Rufus got together without the help of a stupid time machine, and Wyatt had literally carried Lucy back home and rolled her into bed while Jess had given Flynn some kind of lecture in the kitchen (Jess was terrifyingly good at lecturing).

But then, things like this would happen, and she thought—maybe Flynn didn’t _know_ , but he understood, and he felt the same. And they ended up together so… did it really matter, the circumstances, when they’d chosen each other again and again?

Flynn got them in line and wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. “You really do like it?”

“I love it.” _I love you, so much._ “But you’re paying.”

“Bleeding me dry here, Preston.”

She grinned. “For the rest of your life, Flynn.”

For the rest of their goddamn lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All bookstores mentioned are real bookstores. The Last Bookstore, however, is located in Los Angeles. I transplanted it to San Francisco for this fic.


	24. Lucy/Flynn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/181308294153/prompt-garcy-swimming-sea-ocean-lake-pool

Flynn had been telling her for months about the beauty of the Croatian beaches, and how he was going to take her there someday. Lucy had tried not to let herself feel bitter about ‘someday’, because a lot of the time ‘someday’ felt like ‘never’. He would usually tell her about it in a soft voice as they lay in bed and he stroked her hair, along with telling her about his hometown, and growing up, and his mom. Flynn had apparently been an avid swimmer, given how much he talked about those damn beaches, and now, at last, they were finally here.

The beach was warm, the sand soft, and Lucy honestly didn’t ever want to move. Lying around in a bunker with nothing to do was different from getting to lie on a beach with nothing to do, and Lucy definitely preferred the latter.

She also definitely preferred this view.

Flynn had been swimming around like a happy dolphin all day, to the point where Lucy was idly wondering if he had sprouted gills when she wasn’t looking. But at last he was emerging out of the water, and the drops sliding down his chest as his black bathing suit clung to him made for a very appealing view.

Lucy rolled over from her stomach onto her back, smiling up at him as he held out a hand. “Hello, handsome.”

“C’mon in, the water’s great.”

“Yes, I noticed you turning into a fish out there.”

Flynn wiggled his fingers. “You know you want to.”

Lucy held up her hand and let him pull her to her feet, discarding her sunglasses. “All right, show me what’s so— _ah_!”

Her sentence turned into a shriek as Flynn hoisted her up and sprinted into the water with her. Lucy laughed, hitting his back, wiggling to get free until she was dunked in the water. “Garcia Flynn you asshole…”

“Lucy Preston-Flynn, such language,” Flynn replied, grinning as he helped her back to her feet, the water lapping all the way up to her waist. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I have a few ideas,” Lucy replied, tilting her face up in a blatant request for kisses.

Flynn obliged her, tasting like salt water, but she didn’t mind in the slightest. They were on vacation, they could take vacations now, she was getting to see her husband’s home where he’d grown up, they could relax.

It was all she could’ve hoped for.

She pulled away, slipping out of Flynn’s grasp. “Catch me if you can,” she teased, diving into the water, already knowing he’d follow.

Already knowing she’d let him catch her.


	25. Lucy/Flynn & Rufus/Jiya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/181091369203/prompt-a-hey-b-are-you-the-big-spoon-or-the

Rufus and Jiya bickered often, but it was usually about little things like, “Was Kirk or Picard the better captain” and, “If Batman and Iron Man got into a fight who would win.”

So when Lucy walked in to find them bickering on the couch during breakfast, she didn’t really think about it.

Then Rufus looked over at her and said, “Hey, Lucy? Help us out here. Are you the big spoon or the little spoon?”

Lucy raised her eyebrow, holding her empty mug out automatically so that Flynn could pour coffee into it. “Why does it matter?”

“She just wraps all four limbs around me and clings,” Flynn said. “She’s a koala.”

Lucy glared at him. “I do not!” she hissed.

Okay, so maybe she did, but it was just that she had nightmares and Flynn was very big and his arms were very warm and his chest made a nice pillow and she sometimes got scared that if she let go he’d vanish in the middle of the night like Amy, like her mom, like all the people they couldn’t save…

Flynn pushed his fingers through her hair, cupping her cheek and rubbing his thumb absently across the line of her cheekbone. “It’s adorable,” he promised her.

“Ha, see?” Rufus said, turning to Jiya. “I _told_ you—”

“One example makes a hypothesis it does _not_ prove a theory, show me your series of tests in a controlled environment Carlin—”

Flynn rolled his eyes and Lucy decided that y’know what, being a koala wasn’t so bad, and wrapped her arms around him now as she sipped her coffee. Flynn put his arms around her in return, dropping a kiss onto the top of her head.

Because here was the thing—maybe she clung to Flynn, but he clung right back.


	26. Lucy/Flynn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/180767854228/prompt-homesick-either-garcy-flogan-or-garcyatt 
> 
> Chapter four of 'The Back Section of the Video Store' is the smutty follow-up to this chapter.

Flynn half-dozed on the couch, flipping through channels. They didn’t get a lot in this stupid bunker, but it was better than trying to sleep in the cloying silence of his own room. Sometimes the ghosts were a little too loud and he needed something to drown them out.

There was the sound of soft small feet padding towards him and he glanced up to see Lucy, clad in socks and pajamas. There were light circles under her eyes and her hair looked like she’d been running her fingers through it in frustration.

“Can’t sleep?” he rasped.

“Something like that,” Lucy hedged, sitting down near his feet. “This place, it uh… did the journal ever talk about my, um, accident?”

Flynn sat up a bit. “The car in the river? Yes, it mentioned it.”

“That,” Lucy said. “It makes this hard. Staying in the same concrete four walls. No outside air. No real easy way out. Everything’s dark and feels… confining.” Her eyes started to look wet and when she next spoke her voice broke a little. “I miss my home.”

Flynn reached for her before he even realized he planned to do it, pulling her into him and hugging her. He was rarely so bold, letting her reach out to him, letting her be the one to touch him, but when Lucy collapsed against his chest and scooted so that she was properly in his lap, he knew he’d done the right thing.

“It’s not even home anymore,” Lucy croaked. “Amy’s not there. My mom fucking—I bet it’s all been repossessed or something. Half of it was Noah’s, I don’t know if he ever took that all back or not. I miss having my own place. I miss my lectures, I miss my office, I miss my dumb fucking freshmen students, I miss my favorite coffeeshop, I miss the campus bookstore…”

She trailed off. Flynn rubbed her back, tucking her head underneath his chin. “I miss my home,” he replied. “I miss my bed, and Iris’s bedroom with the paint color we spent weeks picking out. I miss my big kitchen for cooking. But… as much as we want a place that we make ours, home isn’t—it isn’t just that space. It’s also the people.” He took a deep breath. “When I’m with the right people, then sure I want—I want that space to make a home with them but the essentials are there. When I’m with them—with you—I’m home.”

Lucy went still for a moment, and then her hands wormed up and around his neck so that she was holding him properly. He felt a light brush of lips against his neck.

“You’re home too,” she whispered.

Flynn buried his face in her hair, held her tightly, and breathed her in. “I’ll give you the rest of it,” he promised. “I’ll give you a proper home.”

“I’d like that,” Lucy said, her fingers tightening where they dug into his back. “I’d like that a lot.”


	27. Wyatt/Flynn/Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/180667909078/silly-prompt-person-a-to-person-b-are-you

When she’d had the idea, way back when they’d defeated Rittenhouse and gone along with their normal lives, that the way to get back into the swing of things and to give herself a project to fill her time was to get another PhD because, hey, she’d been literally time traveling and half the shit she’d known before about history had now changed, one of her husbands really should’ve stopped her.

But they hadn’t. They’d been super encouraging and supportive and gave her foot massages and checked her papers for grammar.

Because they hated her.

Lucy came in, slumping onto the couch where Wyatt was watching football and face-planting in his lap.

“Hey, honey.” Wyatt ran his hand through her hair. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yes. Fine.” She’d complained enough about her damn dissertation and she really was fine, she’d done this all before and knew how it went, but also she kind of wanted to set something on fire. Preferably the history department building at Stanford.

“…are you sure you’re okay.”

“Yes, Wyatt, I promise, I’m absolutely fine.”

“Funny,” Flynn said, walking by from the kitchen, “because earlier you asked me if you could borrow some glue to hold yourself together.”

Lucy flipped over so that she could look up into the face of the man who had once promised to love and cherish her all his life only to just now stab her in the back. “I’m going to find the strength to get up off this couch in about twenty minutes, and then I’m going to kill you.”

“No, you’re not,” Flynn replied, “because I made penne with tomato vodka sauce for dinner, and if I die the recipe dies with me.”

“…I hate you.”

Flynn winked at her and then ruffled Wyatt’s hair as he went back into the kitchen.

Wyatt didn’t say anything, but he changed the channel from football to where the _Real Housewives_ was starting. Both Wyatt and Flynn absolutely hated that show (although she had gotten Wyatt into _The Bachelor_ , much to his own self-loathing and dismay).

It was the stupidest thing, the most random little thing, but she almost burst into tears.

Lucy reached up, patting his cheek. “Thanks.”

Wyatt grinned down at her. “You’ll beat this thing, Luce, promise. You’re badass.”

She fell asleep in the first ten minutes, and when she woke up dinner was ready and Wyatt had turned off the TV and put on some soft jazz, which meant Flynn was humming as he set the table—and she felt slightly, just slightly, less like murdering everything around her.

Okay, maybe more than slightly.


	28. Lucy/Flynn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/180663962788/im-gonna-prompt-you-for-the-girl-could-smack-me
> 
> Inspired by this tumblr post: https://extasiswings.tumblr.com/post/180641894921

Flynn finished turning off the lights while Lucy put the chairs on the tables. “All ready?” he asked.

Lucy nodded, smiling at him as she undid her green apron. “Finally.”

The only benefit to working at this damn place was Lucy. He’d never tell her—he didn’t know how and was pretty sure she would only let him down if he did—but she was the reason he’d stayed working here instead of finding some other place.

Flynn locked the doors and then he and Lucy walked along the darkened streets. She’d asked him to walk her home once after a customer had been bugging her for her number all day, and ever since then it had just been habit. He treasured the extra twenty minutes or so with her, and he’d do far more than just walk her home to make sure Lucy felt safe.

“That girl was totally into you today,” Lucy mentioned as they walked along. “The redhead?”

“No she wasn’t.”

“She was flirting with you while she placed her order!”

“Okay, Lucy, here’s the thing. First of all, I’m not interested in her. Second of all, a girl could smack me on the head and I wouldn’t know she was into me.”

Lucy paused. “Your shoe’s untied.”

Flynn automatically bent down. “Wait no it’s no—”

Lucy smacked him in the back of the head.

“Ow!” Flynn straightened up again. “What the hell was that for!?”

Lucy stared at him in disbelief for a moment, her mouth slightly open. Then she jabbed her index finger into his chest. “I smacked you! On the head! You idiot!”

Flynn thought back to what he’d just said. That he wouldn’t know if a girl like him if she…

Oh.

Lucy gave him a tentative smile. “It felt like the perfect opening.”

Flynn’s chest felt tight, his breath shallow. “You—but—”

“If you don’t feel the same way, then I… I understand…”

Flynn gently took her hand—the hand that’d smacked him, incidentally. “I just, I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

Lucy looked at him for a moment more with shining eyes, and then she was going up onto her tiptoes, giving him the softest, sweetest kiss, one that tasted faintly of the Andes mints she was supposed to put in the hot chocolate but was always sneaking to pop into her mouth on the sly.

Flynn’s hands dropped to her waist, holding her, keeping her balanced so she wouldn’t topple over. “You got any plans tonight?” she whispered, her hands clutching at his coat.

“…no.”

“Well.” Lucy inclined her head towards her apartment, only a block away. “My place has wine, Netflix, and a Chinese takeout menu.”

Flynn could feel his smile creeping across his entire face. “Sounds perfect.”


	29. Flynn/Wyatt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/180662525913/ok-bunch-of-prompts-coming-your-way-just-because

_Okay, okay, I have a date for you. A good one this time I promise._

Wyatt looked down at the text from Jess. Since breaking up, she’d decided it was her sworn and amusing duty to find him people with soulmarks that might match his.

Wyatt’s soulmark was, “Fuck you.”

He supposed that, theoretically, it could be worse. His soulmark could say _add another hundred and I’ll let you [insert sexual act here]_. It could say _stop and I’ll shoot_.

But there was something very annoying and very damning about the fact that the first thing his soulmate was going to say to him was ‘fuck you’. What the fuck was he going to do to them that would make them respond with that?

Wyatt kept walking down the street, tapping out a reply to Jess. _What the hell does their soulmark say this time?_

He never, in fact, found out because at that moment he slammed right into someone—a very tall and well—built someone, holding coffee.

The coffee spilled all over the guy’s jeans and shoes. The man glared at him and Wyatt looked up, nearly dropping his phone in surprise and—

Wow.

Um. Hello, tall dark and handsome.

“Fuck you,” the guy snarled, looking down at his now-wet and probably very hot clothes. “Can’t you watch where you’re going?”

Oh. Oh this was tall dark handsome and a _dick_.

—wait.

Had he just?

“You,” Wyatt blurted out. “You’re the motherfucker who gave me the worst soulmark in the history of ever.”

The guy looked even angrier, ready to argue—and then froze. “What the hell did you just say?”

“I said—”

The guy yanked up his arm, revealing words magically tattooed on his inner forearm. The words said _you’re the motherfucker who gave me the worst soulmark in the history of ever._

“I’m not sure if I should be insulted at the irony or not,” the guy told him, and Wyatt detected an accent, one he couldn’t place. “Imagine, for just two seconds, what it’s like going around with this on your arm. Do you have any idea what I thought I might’ve said to someone to get this in response?”

“Are you kidding me?” Wyatt snapped, tugging down the collar of his shirt to show the words just under his left collarbone. “Fuck you? Really? You had to give me _that_ for my soulmark?”

“It’s not like I knew.”

“Well it’s not like I knew.”

“That’s your response to meeting your soulmate is to inform him he’s given you the worst soulmark ever? At least it wasn’t ‘hey want a blowjob’, I knew someone who had that for their soulmark.”

“You gotta be shitting me.”

They stared at each other for a moment. The guy really was annoyingly attractive. And Wyatt had just made him spill coffee, it was only fair if he, say, offer to buy him a new coffee…

“Would you, uh, I mean, I could pay for a new coffee. Since I ruined that one.”

The guy looked Wyatt up and down for a moment and Wyatt flushed. “Flynn,” the guy told him.

“What?”

“My name. Flynn. I assume you have one.”

“Wyatt.”

They shook hands, because Wyatt was a fucking idiot and apparently so was this guy. Great. Jess was going to laugh so hard she choked when she heard this. But… Flynn’s hand was large and warm in his, and he didn’t look quite so irritated anymore, and Wyatt was a shallow, shallow man who had a thing for dark hair (Jess notwithstanding) and height differences. “So… coffee?”

The corner of Flynn’s mouth quirked upward. “To start, sure.”

Wyatt’s stomach flipped a little. He could definitely work with ‘to start’.


	30. Wyatt/Flynn/Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/180639658863/new-year-countdown-person-a-b-21-happy-new

Lucy was practically bouncing in the kitchen, a few glasses of champagne having done their work. “Five, four, three, two, one!” she yelled as the timer went off. “HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

She grabbed Flynn and jumped up onto her toes, kissing him. Flynn, always more than happy to kiss Lucy, dropped his hands to her hips and responded with equal enthusiasm.

Rufus and Jiya, cuddled on the couch waiting for the ball to drop on the television, gave Wyatt identical long-suffering looks that clearly said _they’re your boyfriend and girlfriend, tapioca-for-brains._

Wyatt sighed and leaned over the back of the chair. “Guys! It’s not even midnight yet! Stop making out every time the microwave goes off!”

Flynn wrenched himself away from Lucy and got the popcorn out of the microwave. “You didn’t mind it when I kissed you,” Lucy said.

Flynn brought the popcorn over and passed it to Rufus, then bent over, kissing Wyatt upside down like he’d decided he was Spider-Man or something, his hands sliding down Wyatt’s chest to his stomach.

“Were you feeling left out?” Flynn whispered, his voice a little rough and teasing.

The answer was no, but Wyatt wasn’t going to say that now, because then Flynn might stop kissing him. “Maybe a little.”

Lucy came around and crawled into his lap. “We can fix that.”

“Oh God,” Rufus groaned. “No more kissing, whatsoever, until the ball drops, okay? For the love of whatever God may exist.”

Lucy glared at him but she settled against Wyatt and did not kiss him as Flynn flopped down to sit on the floor between their legs.

“Ten minutes,” she whispered. “Then I can kiss you both as much as I want.”

Wyatt grinned, putting his arm around her.

Happy fuckin’ New Year indeed.


	31. Wyatt/Flynn/Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/180639365933/silly-ask-two-person-a-i-will-not-hesitate-to

Flynn walked into the living room to find Wyatt sitting placidly on the couch and Lucy, eyes gleaming, standing over by the kitchen table.

“Garcia?” she said sweetly—too sweetly.

“…yes?”

She held up an empty Tupperware container. “What’s this?”

“…something for storing food?”

She put it back down. “Last night this had six cookies in it. And now there are none. The cookies I _said_ were _mine_.”

“You didn’t put your name on them.”

He knew that was the wrong thing to say the moment the words were out of his mouth. Lucy’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I will not hesitate to strangle you.”

Well, if he was going to be murdered anyway, he might as well really earn it. “Can you even reach my neck?”

There was a pause where he could literally feel Lucy weighing her desire to have sex with him again at some point against her overwhelming desire to knee him in the balls.

“I can pick her up,” Wyatt said from the couch.

Flynn shot his husband a look of betrayal. Lucy smirked. “See, he knows which side his bread his buttered.”

“More like he knows who’ll kick him out of bed.”

“Don’t make me want to strangle you too, Flynn,” Wyatt replied.

“How about I make you some replacement cookies then?” he offered. He did want to actually sleep through the night without getting murdered by his wife while she hummed _Cell Block Tango_.

Lucy folded her arms. “Just the way I like them?”

“With an insane and unholy amount of chocolate chips, yes, Lucy.”

She got up onto her tiptoes and kissed him lightly. “Good.”


	32. Rufus/Jiya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/180466366538/playing-in-the-snow-sudden-tackles-for-our-most

Rufus didn’t miss a lot of things about being in school. He didn’t miss the student debt, or the early morning classes, the asshole classmates, the boring professors, the all-white administration staff, or the homework.

But he did miss the snow days.

So that morning when he woke up and saw the snow falling outside he thought… fuck it. It was almost Christmas. Mason could live without him for a day.

He shook Jiya awake. She groaned. “Five more minutes babe, please?”

“I’m calling Mason. We’re taking a snow day.”

Jiya cracked one eye open. “We are?”

“Damn right we are.”

Jiya rolled over onto her back, smiling. “I love you.”

“I know.”

She kicked him for that one.

Mason clearly didn’t believe Rufus’s story that both he and Jiya had the flu, but Rufus didn’t care. He and Jiya had hot chocolate and pancakes for breakfast, and then they bundled up and went out for a walk in the winter wonderland.

“I don’t think it’s snowed this much in years,” Jiya observed, looking up at the softly falling flakes. “I think there’s almost enough to make a snowman.”

“There’s definitely enough for something else,” Rufus said, bending down to scoop up a handful of snow while her back was turned.

“What?”

Jiya turned just in time for the snowball to hit her in the face.

“Snowballs of course.”

“Rufus Carlin I am going to _murder you_ –”

Rufus dove for it as Jiya grabbed some snow and packed it into a ball, winging it at him in retaliation. He bent down behind a tree, grabbing some more, but when he came up—

“Jiya?”

There was no sign of her.

“…Jiya?”

“BY GRABTHAR’S HAMMER!” Jiya yelled, tackling him into the snow.

Rufus yelped as he landed with an oomph on his back, Jiya on top of him, their noses almost touching. She smashed a handful of snow into his face. “Victory is mine!”

He laughed, wiping the snow out of his eyes. “Okay, okay, you win, do with me what you will.”

Jiya helped gently brush the snow off his face, then kissed him, slow and soft. “My will is that we build a little snowman and then we go see if the ice skating rink is open.”

“Whatever you say, m’lady.”

She laughed, getting up and helping him to his feet. “This was a good idea.”

“I’m full of good ideas.”

“…sometimes.” Jiya winked, tugging on his hand and leading him further into the snow.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Rufus told her, but really, with a stupid grin on his face and his heart feeling like it was an overflowing bucket and Jiya’s hand caught up in his… he knew who the lucky one was.


	33. Lucy/Flynn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/180465907433/i-rarely-ask-for-fic-but-omg-please-this-screams

Lucy hummed along with the radio as she got out the Christmas ornaments.

It was their first Christmas together. Theirs. Her and Flynn. She felt ridiculously light inside, like she could float.

Unfortunately, she could not, actually, float.

Hmmm. Where was the stool… there was no way she’d reach the top of this damn tree without he—

“Garcia!” she shrieked as two hands wrapped around her waist and lifted her up.

“You couldn’t reach,” her boyfriend said, his chest against her back so that she could feel the rumble of his voice.

Lucy hung the ornament. “Or you just wanted an excuse to pick me up.”

“Maybe.” Flynn kissed her neck and then set her down. He was wearing that burgundy turtleneck that she loved so much on him, his hair mussed, his smile easy and relaxed.

It hadn’t always been like this. Flynn was prickly, stubborn, opinionated, cranky, and genetically incapable of flirting like a normal human being. But all of the annoyance and confusion and frustration had been worth it for the incredibly soft, loving man who was enough of a dork to lift her up so she could hang Christmas ornaments.

“I’m a grown woman,” she told him, if only to tease. “I think I can do this by myself.”

“You want to, go right ahead.” Flynn gestured nonchalantly at the tree. “But this tree is seven feet tall and you are… how tall again?”

Five feet five inches, for those who were wondering. “Doesn’t matter. Where’d you put the stool?”

“The stool has temporarily vanished. It’s on Christmas vacation.”

“You’re a cruel man, Garcia Flynn.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “I’m a man who’ll take any excuse to hold you.”

Lucy melted at that and he knew it, damn him. She got up on her tiptoes–he was six foot four, after all–and kissed him softly. “You don’t need an excuse for that.”

Flynn kissed her again, a little more forcefully, and the ornaments were definitely forgotten for a while.


	34. Lucy/Flynn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/180465906153/you-already-knew-i-was-gonna-prompt-you-this-for
> 
> Sequel to the previous chapter.

“I think we’re almost finished,” Lucy said, eyeing the tree.

After a quick, ah, detour onto the couch that ended with Lucy now sporting several hickeys and Flynn sporting claw marks on his back, they had gone back to putting up the ornaments—Flynn dutifully and happily lifting her and Lucy dutifully putting up with it because she was a good girlfriend and hopelessly in love with the dork.

“There’s another box of ornaments in the kitchen,” Flynn said, grabbing the lights to hang. “Those are the last ones.”

“Great.” Lucy went into the kitchen.

Ah, that’s where he’d put the stool, the bastard. She grabbed the box of ornaments–

–and heard an almighty crash from the living room.

Oh God. Her heart leapt into her throat and she dashed back into the room. “Garcia!”

Flynn was sprawled on the floor, looking not really the worse for wear but definitely sheepish, his legs tangled up in the Christmas lights.

Lucy pressed her knuckles to her mouth, trying not to laugh. “How did—how did you do that?” she asked, her voice cracking with the effort of trying to sound serious.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Flynn admitted.

Lucy reached for her phone.

“Lucy—Lucy no, Lucy—if you ever loved me—”

She took a picture.

Okay, she took about ten. Sue her, he looked hilarious. “You’re my new favorite Christmas decoration,” she told him.

“I won’t forget this betrayal.”

Lucy walked over to him and sat on his chest, pecking him on the lips. “I’m sure you won’t. Y’know…” she mused, taking in his position and the fact that he was pretty restrained from the waist down, “…I could have some fun with this.”

“I wish I could say I can’t believe this, but that would be a lie.”

“You’re the one who somehow got himself tangled in Christmas lights like Bugs Bunny. And I’m about to reward you for it? You should be thanking me.”

“…thank you?”

“Much better.”

Later, much later, when they’d had their fun and had gotten the lights up and the last of the ornaments, Lucy sent one of the pictures to Amy.

Her sister’s response was immediate:

_Y am i not surprised. Ur dating such a dork._

Then…

_U blew him while he was tangled up didn’t u._

The phone was plucked out of her hands and set aside. “Hey!” she protested.

Flynn handed her a mug of hot chocolate and sat down next to her on the couch so that she could curl up under his arm. “You can gossip about your sexual escapades to your sister later.”

Lucy laid her head on his shoulder, sipping her hot chocolate, watching the lights on the tree twinkle. “Garcia?”

“Yeah?”

“Merry Christmas.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Merry Christmas, _moja ljubav_.”


	35. Lucy/Flynn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/180455413008/for-the-christmas-promptsgarcy-and-snowed-in

Lucy peered outside the cabin window. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“The radio said six inches, at least,” Flynn called from the kitchen.

…crap.

The only reason—the _only_ reason—she was up on this godforsaken mountain in the middle of nowhere was that Grandpa Ethan had gifted it to her in his will. He’d been the only member of her biological father’s creepy, awful family that she’d liked. He’d made the holidays after Dad had passed and Mom had insisted Lucy get to know her ‘real’ family bearable.

From now on, she was going back to spending Christmas with the Wallaces—her adoptive dad’s brother and his wife and kids—and Amy. And Mom could just put that in her pipe and smoke it.

But it was a couple weeks before Christmas and she’d been stressed as all get out with grading papers before the holidays, and so Amy had suggested that she go and check out the cabin that Ethan had left her.

“You need a break,” she’d said. “You can fly out, take a couple weeks of relaxation by yourself, then fly back to see us for Christmas.”

But what if the snow wasn’t melted enough in a few days when her flight left? What if she couldn’t get to her family in time for Christmas? She wanted to see her cousins, see Sarah’s new baby, ask Amy about this boy she’d been going on about. What if she missed it?

Of course, insult on top of injury, she was now stuck with Garcia Flynn.

Flynn lived a bit down the mountain and had, somehow, become friends with Ethan when he would retreat up here to paint or whatever it was. Lucy didn’t see how, since Flynn was the single grumpiest person she’d ever met. She’d hated asking him to come and help her fix her sink, but there was no one else around, and now…

Now it was looking like nuclear winter out there, and Lucy wasn’t about to make Flynn tramp through snow like this and possibly freeze to death. So she was stuck with him.

She turned away from the window to find Flynn leaning against the door frame like Google Earth was taking pics, wiping his hands on a towel. “Well, silver lining, your sink’s all fixed.”

“Would you like some hot chocolate?” she blurted out. “As a thank you. For the sink. And because you’re stuck here.”

Flynn sauntered—the handsome idiot never walked anywhere, he _sauntered—_ past her to the window. He whistled softly. “Wow. Yeah, that’s a doozy.”

“It looks like we’re the only two people on earth.” She’d never seen snow like this before.

“Oh no, guess we’ll just have to repopulate the earth then,” Flynn replied, giving her a lopsided smile.

Lucy felt her gut tighten and warm, and she had to look away. Moments like these she treasured more than she probably should have, those moments where Flynn was soft with her and teased her.

She just wished they weren’t inevitably followed by Flynn shutting down like a malfunctioning robot.

“Guess we’ll have to,” she said lightly. “Never took you for a family guy.”

Flynn coughed uncomfortably. “I… I was, once.”

Oh no. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”

“You didn’t know, it’s fine.” Flynn looked out at the snow. “We were driving in the snow, hit a patch of black ice. My wife was driving… I tried to get the wheel but we flipped. My daughter, Iris, where the—the impact hit her, she died instantly. Lorena… I tried, everything, but she, um, it only took a few minutes. They said I was lucky, just had a broken leg.” Flynn’s voice sounded like it was scraped from the back of his throat. “Lucky.”

“Garcia.” She’d never used his first name before, but it felt appropriate. She put her hand on his arm. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He glanced down at her hand, and for a moment she thought he’d remove it, but then he… he put his hand over hers. He went back to looking out at the snow. “It’s not your fault. It was two years ago now. Ethan was really good to me, during that time. Told me about a boyfriend of his, back in the ‘50s. When the guy died of lung cancer—chain smoker, apparently—Ethan couldn’t go to the funeral. He knew he’d give himself away, crying too much, and they were just supposed to be work colleagues.”

“He—he never told me.”

“He told me about you. I think he… he didn’t want to burden you. Said you made everything else worth it.”

Lucy’s eyes stung. She knew her grandfather had loved her, but it both soothed and hurt her to be reminded of it, now that he was gone. Flynn saw her wiping her eyes and made a noise of dismay. “Now I’m the one who has to say I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s good.” She laughed a little. “I’m glad he had a friend like you. I’d… I’d like to be friends, too. If you want.”

Flynn looked at her with such softness, this besotted smile on his face, that her breath caught. “Lucy. You think that’s why I’m here? Because I owed your grandfather something? Some sense of obligation?”

“I mean… we didn’t exactly get off on the right foot.”

“You showed up without a proper winter coat, what was I supposed to do?”

“Maybe not lecture me about it while grumbling about how I was going to die from idiocy?”

“I’m here because I like you,” Flynn blurted out. He dropped his hand and looked down at the ground, like he couldn’t bear to say this while looking at her. “I really. Like you.”

Lucy stared at him, at his long lashes and dark eyes, at his strong jaw, the hint of stubble, the slightly crooked nose, the soft, slightly flopping hair. She’d known from the start that Flynn was handsome. Had, perhaps, had a few late-night thoughts about getting him to shut up in very creative, naked ways. But she’d never dared to think…

“So when you said we should ‘repopulate’,” she said, taking a small step closer and sliding her hand up his arm to cup his jaw, “you were serious?”

“I mean, not about the—I assume you have some kind of, ah, protection, I didn’t—” Flynn looked up and saw that she was trying to hold in laughter. He rolled his eyes. “I’m just digging a bigger hole for myself, aren’t I?”

“Just wanted confirmation you were actually flirting with me.” She got up on her tiptoes. “Because I really like you too.”

Lucy wanted to state for the record that what the man lost in attitude he more than made up for in the making out department. And in the groping department. And in the… you get the idea.

“What do you mean, you’re bringing a guest?” Amy asked over the phone the next morning, when said phone lines were actually working again. “Who? When? How?”

“You’ll find out when we get there,” Lucy laughed, lying on her stomach in bed. Flynn was lying beside her, tracing patterns along her back. “I just wanted everyone to know for food and stuff.”

“I am mining you for information, Lucy, don’t think you’ll escape me,” Amy warned.

“I love you too. See you in a couple days.” She hung up, and looked at the man beside her—the one who had a very innocent, placid look on his face, like he hadn’t had his tongue (and other things) between her legs an hour ago. “What on earth are we going to do for two days?”

Flynn grinned up at her, softly brushing the hair out of her eyes. “I’m sure we can think of something.”


	36. Flynn/Wyatt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here as the first of two prompts: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/180349565713/ack-those-prompts-6-or-24-or-both-for-flogan

Flynn was heading to bed, basically forcing himself to sleep even though he still felt annoyingly wired. He had to find some way to be sharp tomorrow as they undoubtedly jumped again. Lately it felt like they weren’t just one step behind Rittenhouse, but five steps. Everyone was feeling the strain of it, especially Lucy, who he’d literally carried to her bed an hour ago after she’d fallen asleep at the table, faceplanting in a pile of notes.

He opened the door to his room—and froze.

…someone was in his bed.

At first he thought it was Lucy, since she’d been sleeping over about every other night, curled up on his chest like a spoiled kitten, but when he flicked on the lamp he saw that it was—

“Wyatt?”

Wyatt stirred, eyes opening, bloodshot, the blanket sliding down to reveal that he had not only climbed into Flynn’s bed, he’d shed his clothes while he was at it.

“Flynn?” Wyatt slurred.

“Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

Wyatt looked down at the bed like it’d betrayed him. “This is yours?”

“How much have you had to drink.”

Wyatt tried to count on his fingers and failed.

Flynn sighed, walking over, picking up Wyatt’s trail of clothes along the way. “C’mon, let’s get you to your room.”

He hauled Wyatt up to sitting, but Wyatt shook his head and grabbed onto Flynn’s shirt with clumsy fingers. “Can’t I just…” He tipped his head forward, resting it against Flynn’s stomach and making a contented noise.

That did… dangerous things to Flynn’s ability to breathe. “Wyatt. You’ll want to wake up in your own bed in the morning.”

Wyatt shook his head. “No, your bed smells nicer.”

“It what.”

“Like you.” Wyatt buried his nose in Flynn’s shirt.

…wow this room was warm. “Wyatt. C’mon.”

“Can’t I just sleep with you?” Wyatt looked up at him, his eyes blue and big and pleading, his mouth turning down into a pout. “It’s all… y’know. Big.”

“Big.”

“The bed. My bed. Wondered why this one felt nice.” Wyatt pulled away and stretched back out onto the bed, burying his nose in Flynn’s pillow, practically nuzzling it. “Can kinda smell Lucy too… y’know…” Wyatt eyed him, then pronounced, “I know why she spends the night.”

“Oh? Do you now.”

Wyatt nodded, like he’d made an important scientific discovery. “You’re big. So you make the bed feel not big. You take it all up. And… and you give warmth back.”

“Right.” Flynn wasn’t going to forcibly haul Wyatt back to bed, the guy was way too heavy. He stripped, changing into his sleep shirt and flannel pajama pants. “You snore, or kick me, back to your bed you go.”

Wyatt looked absolutely delighted. Flynn slipped into bed and Wyatt immediately plastered himself to him, tucking his head under Flynn’s chin.

“Wyatt?”

“Mmm?”

“If you wake up in the morning and have some kind of straight man freak out about this, I will leave you behind on the next mission. Is that clear.”

Wyatt snorted. “’m not straight.”

“What.”

Wyatt patted Flynn’s shoulder clumsily. “Don’t know what I am but it’s not that. You bent me.”

“I _what_.”

“Bent me. Y’know. ‘Cause it’s not straight? Made me not straight. Something. You’re very handsome.”

“…Wyatt…” What the absolute _fuck_ was going on and why was his heart pounding so loudly?

Wyatt didn’t answer. Flynn looked down.

The asshole was asleep.

Great. Now he had two people getting drunk and ending up in his bed with only cryptic drunken slurs about him to explain their presence.

Flynn wrapped an arm around Wyatt, if only to keep them secured together so neither of them would fall off the bed, and resigned himself to staring at the ceiling and thinking about literally anything except a) the very attractive body pushed up against his and b) what the hell Lucy was going to say when she heard about this.


	37. Flynn/Wyatt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here as the second prompt fill: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/180349565713/ack-those-prompts-6-or-24-or-both-for-flogan

The gunfire finally stopped.

Wyatt looked back. “Everyone okay?”

Rufus gave a weak thumbs-up. Lucy nodded, pale, her lips pressed together.

“I’ll take rear,” Flynn said. “Run for the Lifeboat.”

Wyatt didn’t even think about why Flynn was taking rear, or about the odd strain in Flynn’s voice, until they’d gotten back to the bunker safely and Flynn grabbed him as they started to exit.

“Come with me,” Flynn whispered. “Act natural for Christ’s sake.”

Wyatt swallowed, trying not to panic and also trying not to let the dark gutter-dwelling part of his brain go on a rampant saw-this-in-a-porno-once scenario marathon. Inappropriate crush on Flynn acknowledged and ignored, thanks, and that was how it was going to stay.

Flynn led Wyatt into his room and shut the door–and then took off his jacket.

Wyatt could feel his eyes bugging out. “I thought—I asked if—” Jesus that was a lot of blood. That was—that was an insane amount of blood.

Flynn lurched and Wyatt grabbed him, helping him lie down on the bed. “I think you’ll have to dig it out.”

Digging bullets out actually wasn’t as common a practice as the movies made it seem. Oftentimes it would cause more damage to take it out than to leave it in. But Flynn had been in battle, so if he said Wyatt had to get it out… then Wyatt trusted him.

“Hold on.” Wyatt went out and got a hand towel and a jug of water, trying to avoid being seen. He had to clean up the wound first so he could see what was going on and not just a sea of awful red. “Jesus, Flynn, why didn’t you say anything?”

“There wasn’t time.” Flynn grunted in pain as Wyatt quickly wiped at the blood.

“You could’ve died running for the Lifeboat.”

“But I didn’t.”

“But you could have.”

“Just get the damn bullet out and sew up my liver or whatever it is, would you Logan?”

“If you’re going to be so cranky about it, maybe I should go a little slower,” Wyatt shot back, swallowing down the panic in his throat. “Why you came to me instead of Lucy or Rufus or literally anyone—”

“You’re the only one I trust to do this,” Flynn admitted.

Wyatt stared at him. “What? Why?”

Flynn gave a hollow little laugh. “Because you’re the one who’ll tell me if there’s nothing we can do.”

Wyatt looked down at the wound, trying to see. Flynn was still bleeding heavily, too heavily, he had to find a way to make it stop— “Wh-what makes you think that?”

“The others’ll… try and say no, no we can… we can fix this…” Flynn snorted. “But I think we know where we stand with each other. Hey, at least you’ll be rid of me, right?”

Wyatt’s hands were shaking uncontrollably, his hands were covered in Flynn’s _blood_ , fuck. “I don’t—I really don’t think—Garcia that’s not—I wouldn’t think that at all.”

Flynn wasn’t looking at him, just staring up at the ceiling. “Look, just take a look at it, see if you can get it out and sew me up, and if you can’t, just tell me and… just clean me up so Lucy doesn’t… I don’t want her to see the mess. When you tell them.”

“What about a hos—”

“Hospital’s too far away and you know it, and how are we going to explain the gunshot wound. And oh, that’s right, I’m a terrorist.”

“Garcia—”

“Wyatt just _do it_. Or sit here quietly and let me die in peace, Jesus.”

“You’re not dying!” Wyatt snapped. He grabbed the supplies, tried to remember everything from the battlefield, tried to keep his hands from shaking. “I’m not fucking letting you. Stubborn, selfish bastard…”

“ _I’m_ the selfish one?”

“Yeah, idiot, can’t even see—I don’t hate you. Asshole.” Wyatt parted the torn skin and sterilized the tweezers, then started to work. “Kind of the opposite, actually, not that you’ve bothered to notice.”

Flynn was very, very still and very, very silent, although that might also have been because Wyatt was digging around in his intestines. “…I see,” he said after a long silence.

“Just hold still, then Lucy can fuss over you and you can go back to making googly eyes at her.”

“You’re one to talk.”

There it was, _there it was_. Jesus fucking H. Christ. Please no shattered bones please no shattered bones please…

Wyatt dropped the bullet to the side and started the terrifying process of sewing up all of Flynn’s various parts. “You’re gonna live,” he said gruffly, his voice thick. “Um, I’m a universal donor, so I can hook us up, replace whatever blood you lost. Nobody has to know.” _Nobody has to know you almost bled out under my hands._

“Lucy will kill you if she knows you helped me hide this.”

“Probably. She’s ready to kill me anyway.” Wyatt dropped the supplies to the side and wiped at his forehead. At least he hadn’t had to do this in Iraq this time, no sand and shit to get in the wound and make it worse. “You should stay in bed for a couple days.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

Wyatt nodded, not daring to meet Flynn’s gaze, cleaning off his hands. Out damn’d spot and all that. “I’ll—”

Flynn reached up, his fingertips trailing down the side of Wyatt’s face, his hand cupping Wyatt’s cheek. “Hey.”

Fuck. Fuck he was not going to start crying, he wasn’t, he _wasn’t_ –

He looked at Flynn, and dammit a few tears slipped free. At least Flynn wouldn’t tell on him. “Gonna need some company. It’ll be boring lying here all by myself.”

Wyatt snorted, unsure if this was a kind rejection or an offer of friendship or both or something in between. Flynn’s thumb brushed away a couple of tears. “C’mere.”

He tugged at him, and Wyatt leaned in, following because that was what he did but unsure as to why, until he was only an inch away from Flynn and thought _oh_ , and then Flynn was kissing him, incredibly soft, but sure and steady.

“I kind of opposite of hate you too,” Flynn informed him with an amused uptick at the corner of his mouth.

Wyatt exhaled shakily, resting their foreheads together. He had an insane amount of questions, about them, about Lucy, about all of it, but adrenaline and fear were being replaced with exhaustion, and Flynn looked about ready to pass out.

So he just let Flynn guide him into lying at his side—the uninjured one—and rested his head on Flynn’s shoulder, their hands tangling together on Flynn’s chest.

And they rested.


	38. Lucy/Flynn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/180209617028/hi-here-again-prompt-no-52-i-think-im-in

When Lucy slept over, which felt like every other night nowadays, Flynn usually woke up first. Initially, he’d woken up first because he’d be in the chair and while he didn’t mind sleeping there for Lucy’s sake, it wasn’t comfortable. Now, he usually woke up because Lucy had started to insist that he share the bed with her and Flynn preferred to get up and deal with his awkward morning wood before Lucy woke up and noticed it, thanks.

But this time, he woke up to the feeling of someone lightly tracing his face with their fingertips.

He kept his eyes closed and his breathing deep and even, concentrating. It was Lucy, it had to be… what was she doing?

The bed was small and cramped, so they inevitably wound up with Lucy sprawled on top of him in some way, not an inch of space between them. It wasn’t that Flynn was unhappy to be holding her. There was nothing he wanted more after a rough day. But they were still… well, they were definitely something. Something more than just friends. But Lucy hadn’t said anything and Flynn was, frankly, too scared to. So that cuddling always came with an extra edge to it.

Now, Lucy was pressed against him, chest to chest, her feet wormed between his because her toes always got cold, and it felt like he had one of his hands in her hair. Her finger just kept tracing lightly, over the curve of his cheeks, down the ridge of his nose, along his jaw. Like she was… memorizing him.

He opened his eyes.

Lucy didn’t notice right away. She was looking at where her finger was, at the hinge of his jaw below his ear, and he saw that her eyes were swollen with tears.

“Lucy?”

Her gaze snapped up to his. There was no chance for her to hide her expression, and so she didn’t try to. “Hi.”

“Nightmare?”

She shook her head, eyes closing, a couple of tears falling loose. “Didn’t sleep, actually.”

He caught her hand, stilling her movements, just barely resisting the urge to kiss her knuckles. “What is it?” Amy again?

“You almost died,” she whispered.

…true, the last mission had been a hell of a close call and he’d nearly been executed by firing squad (long story) but… most missions were close calls. “Hazard of the job.”

“But…” Lucy wiped at her cheeks. “I… I’m sorry, I should…”

She made to get out of bed, but Flynn stopped her. “You can tell me.” She could tell him anything.

Lucy looked at him, and he swore he could see her heart cracking open in her eyes. “I realized… I think I’m in love with you and that scares me half to death.”

The air went out of the room.

Lucy eased back into bed, back against him, her hand clinging tightly to his. “I keep losing people. My mom, Amy, the people we meet on our missions, Wyatt, Rufus…”

“We got Rufus back.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt us to lose him. That doesn’t mean things didn’t change. And think about what it cost us to get him back. Who says we can do that again, if we lose someone else? If we… if I… I can’t lose one more person. And I almost—I would’ve had to just, just sit there and watch you–and Garcia, I can’t, I c-can’t—”

She sank into him, her arms coming around him, and of course he held her, of course he pressed kisses into her hair, how could he not? How could he not when his heart was swelling to ten times its usual size, when his ears were ringing, when everything was screaming _I think I’m in love with you?_

“You won’t lose me,” he promised her. “ _Moja ljubav_ , my darling, you won’t.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can. You think I’ll let anything stop me from coming back to you?” He’d fight Time, Rittenhouse, and Death itself.

After a long moment, Lucy shook her head. Flynn gently combed his fingers through her hair, his mouth pressed to her temple, rocking her. At last Lucy quieted, and for a moment, he thought she’d fallen back asleep.

Then she pulled back from his chest, tilting her face up and kissing him softly. It felt like everything in him melted. “I love you,” she whispered, like it was a terrible secret, a curse.

He’d take being cursed. “ _Volim te. Je t’aime._ ” Lucy smiled at him for the second one. “I love you.”

She sniffled a little, still, but she was smiling at him.

“Do you want me to get coffee?” he offered, trying to think of more ways to lighten the mood. After all, declarations of love were well and good, but they were a bit dampened when the reason said declaration was made was because you were scared the person was going to die on you.

Lucy shook her head, cuddling up against him and tucking her head underneath his chin. “No. I—I don’t want—I’d like to stay like this, a little longer.”

Flynn had no problem with that.


	39. Wyatt/Flynn/Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/180192611138/prompt-no-23-just-pretend-to-be-my-date

Flynn watched in amusement as Lucy chased Wyatt around the apartment.

“C’mon, please? Please please please?”

“No, Lucy.”

“If I go to another faculty party alone then Sheryl _will_ spend the whole time trying to introduce me to the other single people and I can’t do it, Wyatt, please, have pity. Have _mercy_. _Have compassion_.”

Wyatt dodged as Lucy tried to grab him and drag him into the bedroom to change into something decent for a party. “I’m useless at those things, Luce, you know that, I don’t understand what anybody’s talking about. I just stand there feeling like an idiot.”

“But I’ll make it worth your while!” Lucy offered, giving him a winning smile.

Flynn knew very well a way that Lucy could make it worth Wyatt’s while that would guarantee Wyatt saying yes, but as far as Flynn could tell, Lucy had yet to figure out that her feelings for him were reciprocated.

He continued eating his cereal.

“Help?” Wyatt asked, looking over at him.

Flynn would do a lot of things for the guy he was stupidly in love with, just as he’d do a lot of things for the woman he was stupidly in love with, but helping Wyatt say no to Lucy was just asking for the impossible. “You’re on your own, buddy.”

The look of betrayal on Wyatt’s face was hilarious.

“Just pretend to be my date,” Lucy begged. “Please.”

Wyatt folded his arms, and played what he clearly thought was his trump card. “I’m not going to any party if Flynn doesn’t go too.”

Ever since he and Wyatt had gone from bickering enemies to bickering friends, Wyatt would use Flynn as his human shield at parties since Lucy inevitably got swept up into the middle of it like the social butterfly she was and Flynn’s sarcasm was sharp enough to cut throats.

Flynn saw the gleam in Lucy’s eye and knew that Wyatt had just stumbled on a land mine. “Then you can both pretend to be my dates.”

He choked on his cereal.

Oh. Oh no. A whole evening pretending to be dating the two people he was in love with? No no no no no, abort, bad idea, Defcon 4, absolutely no…

Lucy looked over at Flynn and gave him her sad face while Wyatt turned his puppy eyes on to full force.

…fuck.

“Sure,” he said, hating himself with every fiber of his being.

Should be a fucking blast.


	40. Wyatt/Flynn/Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/180193883513/well-since-you-asked-so-nicely-and-im
> 
> Sequel to the previous chapter.

Flynn did not hate faculty parties.

As a matter of fact, he loved them for two reasons:

  1. Academics were always ten times more insane than people gave them credit for being.
  2. He loved finding the handful of pretentious dicks and destroying them systematically until they were making therapy appointments.



Lucy said that Flynn liked “the thrill of the kill.” Wyatt said that Flynn was “a sociopath.”

Well, Wyatt could thank that goddamn sociopathy because he was currently trailing Flynn like Flynn was the only thing keeping him from certain doom.

“Great job convincing people we’re dating,” Flynn said sarcastically. “Tell me, if I have to run to the restroom, will you be okay for the two minutes I’m gone or will you combust?”

Wyatt grabbed Flynn’s arm. Flynn sighed, adjusted it so that Wyatt had his arm looped around his like, y’know, a proper couple, and then hated himself for it. “Everyone here has like, five PhDs. I feel like an idiot.”

“First of all, nobody thinks you’re an idiot. Except for that guy over there but Lucy said everyone hates him and asked me if I could find a way to bring up King James I, for some reason that’s a way to piss him off.”

“But I am, Flynn, I’m the stupidest person in this room. I can’t keep up.”

Flynn turned, frowning at him. Wyatt looked like there was a bomb strapped to his chest. “Wyatt…”

The middle of a crowded room was not the place for this conversation. Flynn dragged Wyatt outside, into one of the other, empty rooms. Someone’s office, it looked like. He shut the door.

“Wyatt, listen to me. You’re not an academic, sure. But neither am I.”

“No, you’re just witty and smart and good at that whole banter thing and hot and…”

“Wait.” Flynn’s brain came to a halt. “Go back.”

“…you’re good at banter?” Wyatt said weakly.

“You–you said I was hot.”

Wyatt tried to get around him. “Lucy’s all alone out there.”

“Wyatt.” Flynn grabbed his wrist, stopping him from leaving. “You’re in love with Lucy.”

“And a guy can’t love two people at once?” Wyatt shot back.

The hope that rose up in Flynn’s chest was so sudden that he felt lightheaded. “You’re… Wyatt, you’re smart, okay? You’re not like these guys but if everyone was like them I think I’d go insane. You’re sweet, and supportive, and you speak four goddamn languages. You’re the car whisperer. You think any one of those people even know what a spark plug is? We’re all smart in our own ways. And you…” He took a deep breath. “Your smarts are just one of the reasons that I—that—that I love you.”

Wyatt’s eyes went wide, and for a moment they stared at each other like the pair of idiots they rightfully were, and then somehow Wyatt was grabbing him and kissing him and Flynn wasn’t ever letting go.

…except when the door opened and Flynn yanked himself away in time to see Lucy’s shocked face.

“…oh,” she said, very softly.

She looked devastated. Fuck.

Flynn reached out for her. “Lucy—Lucy hey, no, c’mere.”

He pulled her back in, shutting the door. “It’s okay. He–Wyatt–he loves you, okay, he told me he was in love with both of us.” _I’m okay sharing_ , he wanted to add. Even if he didn’t get Lucy as well… he’d put up with it. If it made them happy.

Lucy looked over at Wyatt, who was blushing and looked like he wanted the ceiling to crash down on his head. “You…”

“Christ, Luce, I’ve been in love with you for months, I thought—I thought you and Flynn both knew how I felt.”

“…no,” Lucy said, sounding vaguely like she thought she might be in a dream. “I—Garcia? You want to be with him.”

…fuck, he should be honest with her. “I’d like—I want to be with you as well, but… of course I understand if…”

Lucy burst into tears.

“Oh my God.” He and Wyatt both hugged her. “Lucy, I’m so sorry, I’m—”

Her tears started to turn into laughter. “Are you telling me,” she choked out, “that we’ve all been pining for each other this whole time and none of us said anything?”

“…you’re in love with Wyatt,” Flynn said, knowing he sounded like an idiot.

“And I’m in love with you,” Lucy replied. Her smile was blinding.

Then she reached out and locked the door.

“Um… what are you doing?”

“This is Professor Keynes’ office. You know, the annoying one I told you to bother?”

“…and?”

Lucy arched her eyebrow at them. “And if I’m having sex on a colleague’s desk, it’s definitely his.”

Oh.

Well.

Okay then.

Flynn did not hate faculty parties.

…but he had to say that this one was definitely his favorite.


	41. Lucy/Flynn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/180192341793/prompt-no-75-you-fainted-straight-into-my

It was… it was very dark, and comfortable. Warm. Safe, yes, she felt safe…

Her… bed? Was that it? Smelled nice, kind of woodsy…

A bright light shone in her eyes and Lucy squinted, waking up. “What the—”

Rufus was shining a pen light into her eyes. “You okay?”

“Get that light out of my face, Rufus, what the hell?”

“You fainted,” he replied, turning the light off. “You weren’t waking up.”

Come to think of it, she didn’t feel very good. “I… what?”

“You fainted,” her bed announced. “Straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

Lucy looked up and realized that she wasn’t in bed—she was in Flynn’s arms, leaning back against his chest.

“Oh my God.” She jerked to her feet. Flynn looked incredibly amused. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be, you didn’t plan it.” Flynn smirked. “Unless you did, in which case, if you needed to be carried you just had to ask.”

“When was the last time you ate?” Rufus asked.

“Um…”

“That’s what I thought. C’mon, let’s find you something.”

Rufus turned to walk away. Flynn got up, dusting himself off. Lucy blushed, thinking about how she’d felt him against her, the way she’d felt safe, the smell of him filling her nose.

“Are you okay?” Flynn asked, his voice dropping down, his dark gaze searching hers with concern.

“Yes,” she replied. “Thanks for catching me.”

“Anytime,” Flynn told her, and she had a feeling that he wasn’t talking about just in the literal sense.

She suddenly wanted to burrow back into his chest, to inhale that smell, to feel his arms around her, to feel _safe_.

Instead, she took a deep breath, and held her hand out.

Flynn stared at it like it was going to bite him. “…you’re offering me a handshake?”

“You’re an idiot.” She grabbed his hand. “Come on.”

She had to tug on him a little, since apparently holding hands with a woman was something that Garcia Flynn, a fully grown adult who’d been married once before, was unable to process, but then he got onboard and interlaced their fingers, following her as she went after Rufus.

When Lucy squeezed, he squeezed back.

And she felt a little safer.


	42. Flynn/Wyatt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/180190043243/prompt-no-62-its-okay-to-cry-timless

Flynn walked around the bunker, making sure all the lights were off and things were picked up. An old habit, back from when he’d been a proper civilian. He was always the last one in bed and sometimes got home late, so he’d walk around the house cleaning up Iris’s toys, the coffee cup Lorena left on the table, the opened mail in the kitchen.

Everyone else was asleep now… or so he’d thought, until he heard a soft noise in the main room.

Paternal instincts, dulled but not forgotten, kicked in. He knew that sound, recognized it from Iris’s nightmares.

Crying.

He entered the main room, thinking it would be Jiya, or Lucy (although he was sure he’d left her in their room, dead asleep)…

Flynn stopped dead.

It was Wyatt.

He jerked his head up as he heard Flynn enter–Flynn got a quick glimpse of a red, blotchy face before Wyatt turned away and busied himself wiping up the kitchen table.

“…everything all right?”

“Yeah.” Wyatt’s voice was rough. “Yeah, just, y’know, insomnia. You good?”

“I’m fine.” Flynn dared to take a step closer. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“What?” Wyatt’s shoulders jerked in surprise but he kept his back to Flynn. “No, nothing.”

Flynn considered turning around and going to bed and leaving Wyatt to his peace and quiet. But… dammit. The guy had mellowed out a lot since his future self had appeared and told him some things that had made Wyatt go white in the face and not speak to anyone for two weeks, and he’d had a rough go of it with Jess. He’d been spending a lot of time with Flynn and Lucy, since Rufus and Jiya were busy finding out where they stood with each other after Rufus’s death and return and Jiya’s three years alone, and he actually hadn’t been intrusive. Just quiet, mostly, and extremely careful not to touch either of them. Flynn had gone from close-to-hating Wyatt to… something else. Half the time it didn’t feel like Flynn-and-Lucy with Wyatt on the side anymore, it felt like Lucy-and-Flynn-and-Wyatt, in spirit if not in practice.

And something in him really, really got close to breaking at the thought of Wyatt crying alone at one in the morning.

So he sighed and walked forward, grabbing Wyatt’s wrist, stilling his movement. “What’s up.”

Wyatt was silent for a long moment. Then he said, his voice cracking, “Denise told me my dad died.”

“…oh.”

“I mean it’s not a big deal, honestly. He was a sonofabitch, gave me a shiner once a week, y’know, drunk as fuck. World’s better without him. And I haven’t… I haven’t even seen him in over a decade so…”

Flynn yanked on Wyatt until the shorter man had no choice but to turn around, wrapping his arm around Wyatt’s shoulders and basically wrestling him into a hug.

Wyatt struggled for about ten seconds, tugging at Flynn’s grip, and then slumped, the fight going out of him, his forehead coming down with a thunk onto Flynn’s shoulder.

“I hated him,” Wyatt admitted softly. “He was awful, I don’t know why… I shouldn’t be crying.”

“It’s okay to cry,” Flynn replied. He rubbed Wyatt’s back slowly.

“How the fuck is it okay?”

“Because when your shitty parent dies… there goes any chance that they’ll turn into the parent you always wanted them to be when you were a kid.”

Wyatt’s arms wrapped around him and gripped tightly, painfully tightly, and he shook a little.

Flynn turned, pressing his mouth to Wyatt’s hair, almost but not quite a kiss. It felt like he was blurring the already-smudged line that had gotten laid down at some point, and his heart was thumping wildly at the thought of all the ways this could go wrong. But Wyatt wasn’t even making noise, he was crying that hard, his chest shaking against Flynn, and fuck, he didn’t care if he erased the line completely if it gave Wyatt what he needed in this moment.

Because nobody had been there when Flynn had had his moment.

“It’s stupid,” Flynn said, quietly, “but you go to bed hoping that when you wake up, your old awful dad will be replaced by a new dad, one that plays with you and smiles at you, one that doesn’t hit the bottle or hit your mom. It’s like how kids without parents wish they would wake up and find out they’re secretly wizards or the heirs to a kingdom, or something. And no matter how much you hate it or shove it down that hope is still there underneath it all just like… just like how no matter how old we get there’s still a five year old in us. It’s like how we don’t believe in Santa but we kind of want to be proven wrong. We kind of want to see him coming down the chimney. And when that parent is gone… that dream you had as a kid, it’s gone too.”

Wyatt gave a kind of strangled, sobbing laugh. “How do you know all this?”

“My dad was the same.”

Wyatt shifted, turning his face so that it was resting on Flynn’s shoulder properly, his nose brushing Flynn’s neck. “I’m sorry. You turned out great, though, y’know, a good person and all.”

“And you think you didn’t?”

“Maybe. I… I don’t know.”

Flynn had the urge to tilt Wyatt’s face up and kiss him, to lick right in, to show Wyatt he was valued in the most primal, explicit way possible.

But he feared that wasn’t what Wyatt needed right now.

“Come to bed,” he offered instead.

Wyatt stiffened and pulled back, his eyes searching Flynn’s. “You… what?”

“You shouldn’t be alone right now. It’ll help you sleep.”

Wyatt shook his head. “I—but—Garcia, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Wyatt stared at him for a moment, eyes rimmed red and agonized–and then he lunged forward, his lips crashing clumsily into Flynn’s.

It was a flaming car wreck of a first kiss, since Flynn was frankly frozen in shock and Wyatt was more proving a point than trying to make it good and Flynn could practically taste the desperation on him. Wyatt pulled back, looking terrified.

“That’s why,” he whispered softly.

Well, since the line had already been crossed…

Flynn took Wyatt’s face in his hands–Wyatt looked like he thought Flynn might use some judo move to snap his neck–and kissed him. He kept it soft, exploring, a proper first kiss, moving his lips against Wyatt’s until he felt Wyatt relaxing completely against him.

“Come to bed,” he repeated, the words breathed into Wyatt’s mouth.

Wyatt was clinging to him like he’d sink and drown if he had to let go, his fingers trembling minutely. He didn’t say anything, just nodded, and let Flynn lead him.


	43. Wyatt/Flynn/Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/179198280133/halloween-prompt-80-or-21-or-both

**“Oh my God, I think the crystal ball is working. The spirits are telling me you’re a dumbass.”**

Lucy set the crystal ball down in the middle of the table. “Okay, are we ready?”

“Can’t we use a Ouija board like normal stupid people?” Wyatt muttered.

Flynn plopped himself down in between Wyatt and Lucy. “Do your worst, Madame Zeroni.”

“Madame what?”

“From _Holes_?”

“What?”

Flynn stared at Wyatt. “You’ve never read _Holes_.”

“No, should I?”

Lucy waved her hand over the crystal ball. “You two shut up. We have to ask the spirits politely if they will join us.”

“And you’ve done this before?” Wyatt snarked.

Flynn reached out, touching the crystal ball. A moment later he gasped. “Oh my God, I think it’s working.”

“Is it?” Lucy asked excitedly.

Flynn’s eyelids fluttered, and then he gasped again and looked at Wyatt. “The spirits are telling me you’re a dumbass.”

Wyatt punched Flynn in the shoulder. “If you get possessed by a demon don’t come crying to me, asshole.”

_Meanwhile, in the spirit realm…_

“HE’S A DUMBASS!” Jessica Logan yelled. “TELL HIM JESS SAID HE’S A DUMBASS! HELLO? IS THIS THING ON!?”

* * *

**“I just found out my best friend and love of my life isn’t human and you’re criticizing me for being shocked?!”**

Wyatt expected a lot of things to happen on Halloween. He expected Jiya’s punch to have a kick, he expected Mason’s costume to make no sense, and he expected lots of trick-or-treaters.

He did not expect to walk into the apartment and find Flynn, blood and vomit all over his shirt and the floor, sucking blood from Lucy’s wrist as she pet his hair and talked in a soothing voice.

Wyatt dropped the groceries. “What the fuck!?”

“Oh thank God,” Lucy said. “Go to Flynn’s room and get the medicine kit out of his closet, please, I’m still stabilizing him.”

“You’re still—what—is he—the fuck?” Wyatt spluttered.

Lucy glared at him. “ _Now_ , Wyatt. I can only give so much, you’re bigger.”

Wyatt trooped into Flynn’s room and fetched the medicine kit that was, apparently, in his closet, and then trooped back out, all the while thinking _the fuck, the fuck, the fuck!?_

Lucy opened the kit. “I’m going to set up a line so we can take blood from you properly.”

“Lucy. What the fuck is going on here.”

Lucy stared at him. “Flynn’s supplier gave him bad blood, he threw it all up, and now he needs some from us to stabilize.”

“Okay. Um. Right.” Flynn did look rather paler than usual, dark circles under his eyes, and his breathing was erratic. “Sorry, by ‘what the fuck is going on here’ I meant, why the fuck is Flynn drinking blood in the first place!?”

“Because he’s a vampire, Wyatt!” Lucy snapped, exasperated. “You really couldn’t tell!?”

“I just found out that my best friend and the love of my life—barring you—isn’t human and you’re criticizing me for being shocked!?”

“You’ve been having sex with the man for months and you never thought it was weird that he _doesn’t have a pulse_!?”

“I’m not a doctor! I’m not checking for a pulse!”

“I figured it out after about two weeks, Wyatt, seriously? He hates garlic, he never goes outside in the sun if he can help it, he has sharp teeth?”

“To be fair,” Flynn gasped out, “the fact that you got on your period helped.”

“Oh my God,” Wyatt said faintly. “My boyfriend is a vampire.”

Lucy forced him to lie down and expertly inserted the cannula. “And yes, that’s why he eats me out during my period, excellent observation skills Wyatt. Now hold still so you can be wonderfully heroic and romantic and save his life, mmkay?”

“You’re never living down the ‘love of my life’ thing,” Flynn rasped as blood started to flow into a bottle that Lucy set up.

“I hate you both so much,” Wyatt said faintly. “Did neither of you think to maybe tell me?”

“We assumed you knew,” Lucy replied. “Seeing as it was super obvious.”

She finished filling the bottle and unhooked Wyatt, then passed the bottle to Flynn, who drank deeply.

“I’m gonna pass out now,” Wyatt added. “If nobody minds.”

Lucy guided his head down onto her lap. “By all means.”

The last thing he heard before he passed out was Lucy asking Flynn if he still felt up to going to Rufus and Jiya’s Halloween party that night.

What. The fuck.


	44. Wyatt/Flynn/Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/177844557328/autumn-fic-meme-garcyatt-matching-halloween

“You realize nobody’s going to know who we are,” Wyatt pointed out, double-checking himself in the mirror.

“You also realize you helped to suggest this idea?” Lucy replied, grabbing her mask. She’d made the entire Darth Revan outfit on her own, spending two months on it because she was determined for it to be perfect.

Female Revan for the win, bitches.

“We can have fun telling people who we are, then,” Flynn said. He was lounging on the bed, already dressed as Darth Malak and having been that way for some time. Pre-metal jaw, since that had been a bit beyond his and Lucy’s creative crafting capabilities.

Wyatt folded his arms and arched an eyebrow up. Flynn grinned. “Just keep that expression for the next three hours, darling, it’s beautifully in character.”

Lucy laughed, grabbing their lightsabers. “Let’s be honest here, the Jedi Exile has a far better ability to resist Revan and Malak’s crazy schemes than Wyatt does ours.” She winked at her husband to soften the blow.

“This is our first real chance to meet the neighbors, that’s all,” Wyatt said, taking his lightsaber from Lucy and clipping it to his belt. “I… want to make a good impression.”

“Turn on that Texan charm and you’ll be fine,” Flynn said, standing up and taking his own lightsaber. “Besides, Rufus and Jiya are stopping by for the movie marathon later, that’ll give us an excuse to leave early if it’s awkward.”

Lucy put on her mask. “ _Damn_ I look badass.”

“All right, Darth, let’s go,” Wyatt said, dragging her away from the mirror before she could spend an hour admiring her handiwork. “Time to show our neighbors that we’re gay _and_ massive nerds.”

Flynn snapped a quick picture of the three of them while Wyatt was distracted, sending it to Jiya. He got a response a moment later:

_YOU SAID YOU WERE GOING AS KIRK MCCOY AND SPOCK YOU GODDAMN TRAITORS_

He grinned, then hurried out after his spouses who were already arguing about whether candy corn was amazing (Lucy) or tasted like wax (Wyatt).

Personally, he was looking forward to the party. It could help to soothe Lucy and Wyatt’s nerves about moving into a new neighborhood and introducing themselves, fearing judgment.

And hey, if it all went to shit, he could make out with them and scandalize everyone. Because what was Halloween for if not terrifying your neighbors? And if they were terrifying by being polyamorous bisexual nerds dressed up like Star Wars video game characters, then so be it.


	45. Wyatt/Flynn/Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/177325237133/im-in-the-mood-for-some-cute-garcyatt-so-im

“Oh, look!” Lucy said, pointing.

They were scouting out neighborhoods in the Bay Area to find a good place to live. Lucy had been able to successfully argue for her position at Stanford back (take that, David, you fucker) and while Wyatt and Flynn were still adrift as far as “what to do with our lives now” went, the generous, ah, compensation that Denise had arranged for them meant buying a house wasn’t out of the question. And they wanted to plan for the future—even if that future was still, in some aspects, only danced around.

This neighborhood, apparently, had a little playground just around the corner.

Before either Wyatt or Flynn could protest, Lucy was hurrying across the street to hop onto the swings.

“Aren’t you a little big?” Wyatt asked.

“Push me!” was Lucy’s response.

Flynn and Wyatt looked at one another, they crossed the street to join her.

Wyatt obligingly pushed her while Flynn leaned against the slide. “It’s cute,” he admitted.

“I wish I had my camera,” Wyatt said. “You look adorable.” He then pointed at Flynn. “And you look like you’re posing. How do you always look like you’re posing?”

“Google earth,” Flynn said solemnly.

“He’s quoting memes,” Wyatt said to Lucy. “It’s official, he’s lost his mind.”

“Or just spent too much time around Rufus and Jiya.” Lucy leaned back as she swung upward, giving a little whoop before she sailed back down again.

Flynn watched them for a moment, Lucy laughing as she kept telling Wyatt to push her higher.

And then she said, “You know, this’ll be perfect for later on. Having a park just around the corner like this. It’s only a five minute walk.”

Wyatt froze and was literally smacked into by Lucy on her way down, sending him tumbling to the side. Flynn kind of froze as well.

Lucy dragged her feet to stop her movement. Her eyes were wide as if she’d only just now caught up to what she’d said.

They all stared at one another for a moment.

This was the thing they’d been avoiding talking about. The thing that scared all of them, as much as they wanted it.

“I…” Lucy’s voice was small and died away after the first word.

“You…” Wyatt looked at Lucy, then at Flynn. “Would—do you—”

Wyatt, Flynn knew, was scared of becoming his father. And Lucy was scared of her child disappearing. But neither of them had actually gone through the loss of a child.

He knew it was up to him.

Flynn forced himself to look at Wyatt and nod. Then he looked at Lucy. “Yes.”

Lucy was up and off the swing and barreling into him before Flynn could even blink. “I want—I want two, I want—and I thought—but I do, and I want a girl and I want a boy and I want them to look like both of you and—”

Flynn wrapped his arms around her, holding her as she babbled into his chest. He looked up at Wyatt, who had wet eyes and looked kind of like someone had dug their fingers into his chest and squeezed his heart.

Wyatt stumbled over, grabbing Flynn’s hand, squeezing it tightly.

Lucy was already moving onto logistics. “Shit, I have to—I have an IUD, I need to—and would Denise want to be a godparent? And we need—”

“No shopping until you’re actually pregnant,” Wyatt said.

Lucy whipped around and hugged him too. “You’re going to be amazing,” she whispered, pecking him on the cheek.

Wyatt looked over at Flynn, who de-tangled their fingers to reach up and cup Wyatt’s cheek in his hand.

Lucy pulled away from both of them and climbed up onto the top of the slide. “I’m queen of the world!” she shouted.

“Let’s see if she still says that when she’s seven months in,” Flynn muttered, pulling Wyatt in so that he could hold his hand again and Wyatt could rest his head on Flynn’s shoulder.

Lucy went down the slide with another whoop and then dashed back to them. “Let’s buy the house, let’s buy it, let’s buy it and have sex in every room…”

“Jesus this is like crack to you,” Wyatt blurted out.

Lucy’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, just you wait, sweetheart. Just you wait.”

Flynn honestly, fervently hoped that, boy or girl or variation thereupon, their child turned out just like Lucy.


	46. Wyatt/Flynn/Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/177078143418/ive-decided-i-need-a-happy-fluffy-drabble-in-my

Lucy slipped into the bedroom, the tray clasped tightly to her chest like it was filled with gold.

Flynn cracked an eye open at her. Wyatt, as was typical, slept on, oblivious.

“What are you up to?”

Lucy tiptoed over to the bed, a massive grin on her face. As she got closer Flynn could see the flour on her face, smeared like she’d wiped at her cheek and not realized she’d gotten some there. “Ta da.”

Flynn sat up as Lucy carefully placed the tray on the bed. On it were a dozen pastries, dusted with powdered sugar.

“…did you make donuts?”

“She’s been up all night,” Wyatt mumbled. “All week.”

Flynn frowned, looking from Wyatt to Lucy. “Why?”

Lucy chewed on her lip. “I had to get them perfect.”

It felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to Flynn’s chest. When he’d mentioned that Maria had worked at a coffee and donut place in high school, and would make Garcia donuts as a child, he hadn’t thought—

And Lucy couldn’t cook—well, she could, yes, but simple things like macaroni and cheese, and the cookie recipe off the back of the Nestle Tollhouse chocolate chip bag.

“It’s your birthday,” Lucy added, her voice even softer, small, like she thought she’d done something wrong.

Flynn cupped her face in his hand, using his thumb to brush off the flour. “Have I told you lately that you’re perfect?”

Lucy’s eyes sparkled and she turned her face into his palm, sighing happily. Flynn leaned in, kissing her—and of course kissing Lucy just once wasn’t enough, not when he could do it two, three, four, five times.

At last Lucy pulled away, laughing. “Stop, you have to eat them while they’re warm.”

“You can’t think we’re seriously eating four donuts each.”

“I can,” Wyatt said.

“It’s your birthday, you can do whatever you want,” Lucy said. “…but Denise might have made me promise to save her one or two since she brought the supplies.”

Flynn took her by the wrist and pulled her in, tucking her into his side. “Thank you.” No matter how they tasted, he knew he’d love them.

They completely ruined the bed sheets with sticky fingers and powdered sugar, but Flynn didn’t care. The donuts were warm and delicious and Wyatt’s mouth tasted sugar-sweet when Flynn kissed him and Lucy was smiling like she just might burst into tears from happiness and Flynn was happy, something he’d thought was long past him, gone, out of his reach, and honestly, it was a little thing but a miracle all the same.


	47. Lucy/Flynn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/176957500853/i-think-you-could-do-justice-to-garcy-hilarys

Rittenhouse is gone.

Rittenhouse is. It’s gone. It’s. Done.

It almost feels like she can’t breathe, because she’s standing too high up on a mountain and breathing fresh air instead of city smog and her body’s unable to process that it’s free.

Denise has her arms folded but she’s smiling as she tells them. _…exposed to the public… arrested… Emma’s death really knocked them for a loop…_

Lucy’s wearing a stupidly tight dress from the 18th Century, she’s covered in dirt, and she’s hearing Denise Christopher tell them that Rittenhouse is dead, gone, destroyed.

Honestly? She wants to cry.

Jess does a sarcastic slow clap from where she’s sitting on the couch, the baby sleeping in her lap. That seems to snap everyone out of their daze and Jiya launches herself at Rufus, letting him spin her around as they laugh and kiss and laugh some more. Mason slumps down in his seat and says, “I need a drink,” to which Wyatt replies, “We all need drinks,” and Denise watches them all fondly and Flynn…

Where is Flynn?

It takes her a while to find him. He’s not in his room, or the bathroom, or anywhere else in the new bunker they installed themselves in (how many of these bunkers _are_ there, anyway?). She at last finds him outside, now that apparently they no longer need to hide away, and he’s sitting with his back against a tree and just… staring into nothing.

“Hey.” She walks up to him. “I think Mason’s busting out the champagne.”

“Ah. Well, in that case…” Flynn stands, and she knows that something’s wrong, his tone is that falsely lighthearted one that he uses when he’s trying to hide in his sadness or his anger.

“Everything okay?” They ended Rittenhouse but they don’t know about Lorena and Iris, maybe he’s learned they’re not alive and he’s upset, maybe they are alive and he wishes he could go to them, maybe…

“Everything’s fine.” Flynn raises his eyebrows. “I’m surprised you’re not with Wyatt. Was Jess being difficult?”

Jess and Wyatt are… in an interesting position. After learning that Emma planned to use her baby to secure a political alliance (long story), Jess defected back to the time team. Turns out, she had been planning on defecting in the first place but had decided to stick with Rittenhouse when she’d learned she was pregnant, out of fear that Rittenhouse would kill her and therefore the baby.

Even after Wyatt said he was in love with her, Lucy’s seen how he looks at Jess. It’s been a painful process for both of them—Wyatt learning not to put Jess on a pedestal, Jess earning back everyone’s trust—and with a baby involved to boot.

Lucy doesn’t know if, minus Jess, she and Wyatt would have made it. If they would have been happy together. She doesn’t know if he really does love her or if he just thinks he does because she’s his safe place and he doesn’t know how to be emotionally vulnerable with someone and also not be in love with them.

What she does know is that Jess and Wyatt have their business to work out, and she’s not a part of it. She’s made that clear and Jess, at least, appreciates it, as she told Lucy during one very interesting late night conversation.

But Flynn, it seems, has made the opposite assumption. Lucy can’t exactly blame him—as far as she knows, he hasn’t been present for any of the conversations she’s had with Wyatt or Jess on the matter.

“I’m not with Wyatt,” she says slowly. “And I won’t be.”

Flynn’s face does this amazing thing where it manages to look like he’s been smacked with a bucketful of cold water. “What?”

Lucy shakes her head at him. Dread is settling in her stomach. She’d thought—well, she’d hoped—Flynn’s been there this whole time, letting her keep him up at night with idle conversation when she can’t sleep, holding her when she cries, looking her in the eye and telling her “you’re not a monster” when she finally, finally shot Emma and she had thought that she was going to throw up and faint at the same time…

Has she been reading it wrong? She hasn’t dared to ask, it hasn’t ever felt like the right time, but…

“Oh God,” Flynn blurts out, and Lucy realizes she’s started crying. “Lucy, Lucy, hey.”

He gathers her up in his arms, or maybe she stepped into them, she doesn’t know, but she clings to him and buries her face in his chest and never wants to let go.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, rubbing her back. “Did he—you’ll get over it in time, Lucy, I promise.”

She laughs, partially because time is, she knows, a fickle friend, and partially because Flynn has it all wrong. “I’m not crying over Wyatt.”

Flynn pulls back so that he can look into her face. “Lucy, you can be honest…”

“I’m being honest. I did—I wanted to be with him, once, because I was lonely and depressed and it felt like he was the only thing I had left. But I’m not in love with him. I don’t know how he feels, exactly, but even if he does—he’s got to work things out with Jess and I don’t know if I’d wait around for that even if I didn’t already want someone else.”

Flynn stares at her uncomprehendingly. Lucy wants to laugh again. Flynn is, in many ways, a genius (as he jokingly told her once). But sometimes he’s also an idiot who can’t see what’s right in front of his face.

So she gets up on her tiptoes, and takes his face in her hands, and kisses him.

For a moment Flynn appears to have been turned into stone out of shock, and Lucy’s honestly had better kisses, but then he seems to melt and come alive and he’s wrapping his arms around her, lifting her up off the ground, and he tilts his head and oh. _Oh_. She’s never had a better kiss than this.

Flynn sets her down gently and looks at her and his eyes are shining like he was blind and she’s just given him the gift of sight. “Lucy…”

She kisses him again, softly. “Garcia.” She raises an eyebrow, challenging him.

Flynn shakes his head, smiling at her like she’s impossible and he loves her for it, and then he’s kissing her again, over and over, until they’re drunk on it.

Who even needs champagne.


	48. Wyatt/Flynn/Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/174957047488/yo-madison-hmu-with-some-75-garcyatt-any

Lucy’s deep in the middle of research.

Again.

Ever since she had the—admittedly brilliant—idea to catalogue pivotal moments in history and create an algorithm with Jiya to figure out which of those moments were most likely Rittenhouse targets so that they can, hopefully, create a timeline-slash-map of what Rittenhouse is planning and where/when they’re going to strike next, “sleep” is something that Lucy is becoming increasingly unfamiliar with.

Wyatt shuffles over to where Flynn’s leaning in the doorway to the common area, watching her work. He was happily dozing, until he realized that the bed was unusually cold and empty, and now he just can’t get back to sleep.

Flynn reaches out, sensing Wyatt’s presence without turning his head, and pulls Wyatt into his side. Wyatt’s always cuddly when he’s not fully alert, and he rests his head on Flynn’s shoulder while he joins him in watching Lucy shuffle papers around and mutter to herself.

“Does she look kind of like a mad scientist or is that just me?” he asks, voice hoarse from sleep.

“She needs to rest,” Flynn replies.

“Try telling her that.”

Flynn runs his hand through Wyatt’s hair, waking him up a little. “C’mon.”

Wyatt pulls away, standing under his own power once more, and shuffles behind Flynn—there’s really no other word for how Wyatt moves when he’s sleepy, it’s like a tired penguin almost—as they approach Lucy.

“I’m in the middle of something,” she says, not even looking up.

Flynn’s had this argument with her before. So has Wyatt. The latter led to a fun three days of not speaking to each other because, quote, “Wyatt’s being a controlling asshat again,” which was kind of justified given that Wyatt told Lucy he was going to make her sleep whether she liked it or not, and Flynn really, really does not want a repeat of that because the only thing worse than fighting with his girlfriend or boyfriend is when he’s stuck in the middle of them fighting each other.

Then Flynn gets that look in his eye—the one they can all interpret by now and generally translated to _Flynn’s got an idea. An awful idea. Flynn has a wonderful, awful idea._

He sits down next to Lucy at the desk, hooks two fingers under her chin, turns her, and kisses her before she can even finish saying “Wha—”

It’s one of those slow, lazy kisses, the kind you only do when you know you’ve got all the time in the world. Flynn pulls back, and Lucy’s looking a little dazed. Victory.

“C’mon to bed,” he says quietly. It’s a request, always a request, because Flynn can somehow never make anything a command where Lucy’s concerned, and Lucy blinks at him slowly, as if exhaustion is washing over her all at once now that she’s paused long enough to acknowledge it.

“But–”

That’s when Wyatt, who is a little late to get into the spirit of things but once he does goes one hundred and ten percent, swoops in and kisses her. It starts out quick, but then gets soft, and when he pulls away Lucy’s leaning into him a little.

“Bed,” Flynn confirms.

“Are you two going to keep kissing me until I agree?” Lucy grumbles, as if this is somehow a horrible punishment.

Flynn just picks her up instead, an arm around her waist, and starts carrying her out. Lucy shrieks in surprise and thumps him on the shoulder. “Garcia, put me down! Garcia!”

She looks at Wyatt for assistance, but he just shakes his head at her, smiling, and follows Flynn as he carries Lucy to bed.

She protests the entire way, calling them both traitors, telling them she’s fine, she can take care of herself for crying out loud, but she’s out like a light the moment her head hits the pillow.

And of course, wherever Lucy goes, Flynn and Wyatt follow.


	49. Bunker Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/174610347603/hello-anon-who-asked-if-youre-taking-requests-is

They were all sprawled out on the couch area, watching _Charade_. Rufus and Jiya had commandeered the armchair, which meant that Wyatt and Flynn were tentatively sharing (re: passive aggressively elbowing one another on) the couch. Lucy was sitting on the floor between Flynn’s legs, because while she knew he wouldn’t mind if she sat in his lap, she didn’t fancy starting World War III over it.

“We definitely need more chairs,” Mason said. He was sitting at the kitchen table.

“And a bigger sofa,” Flynn added.

“Or you need to stop hogging it,” Wyatt grumbled.

“We could always snuggle,” Flynn shot back.

“There will never be a lady as classy as Audrey Hepburn,” Rufus said quickly, sensing the brewing storm.

Lucy opened her mouth—and then paused.

She hadn’t… well, her behavior had been pretty obvious. Especially around Josephine Baker and Mrs. Sherlock Holmes. But she hadn’t explicitly said anything.

She knew it was stupid to worry. They had Agent Christopher, after all. But there was still a tiny part of her that was afraid.

Oh, what the hell. If she couldn’t say it in front of the people she considered family, then who the hell could she say it in front of?

“Audrey Hepburn was my first girl crush,” Lucy admitted.

The silence that followed probably only lasted a moment or two, but to Lucy it felt like an eternity. Then she felt Flynn’s hand gently carding through her hair.

“Cary Grant was my first boy crush,” Flynn said.

“Classy,” Jiya remarked with a smirk.

“Well, who was yours?” Flynn asked.

“None,” Jiya replied. “I’m demi, sex comes after love.”

“…that is the sweetest goddamn thing you have ever said,” Rufus declared.

“Oh God, please no,” Wyatt said, making a face. “You two give ‘sickeningly cute’ a whole new meaning.”

“Says the guy who was making goo-goo eyes at Wendell Scott,” Rufus shot back.

“That—” Wyatt flushed redder than Lucy’s lipstick. “It’s called hero worship, okay?”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Mason called from the table.

Wyatt rolled his eyes. “All right, fine, yes. Both. I like—both. There. You happy?”

“Does this mean you _do_ want to snuggle?” Flynn asked.

Lucy would’ve smacked Flynn’s knee but his snarky comment seemed to be the thing to make Wyatt relax. Probably because it was normal for Flynn to snark at him—the comment showed Wyatt that this was normal. It was all okay.

“For the record I like women,” Rufus said.

“Yes, Rufus, we’ve noticed.”

Lucy laid her head on Flynn’s knee. And if Flynn’s arm ended up around the back of the couch where Wyatt was sitting… well, she wasn’t going to say anything about it.

The next morning Denise strode in with a box, looking none too pleased. “All right, which one of you sassbuckets decided this was a fun idea?”

“What’s a fun idea?” Jiya asked as she and Rufus stumbled into the kitchen.

Lucy, who thanks to Flynn was already on her second cup of coffee, was able to recognize the box as a cake container. “What’s that?”

Denise set the box down on the table and opened it.

Wyatt choked on his cereal and Flynn had to slap him on the back.

The cake said CONGRATULATIONS with the gay, bi, aromantic, and demi pride flags on it.

“Oh, look, the cake arrived!” Mason said gleefully, entering the room. “Thank you ever so much for picking that up for me, Denise.”

“You had it _delivered to my house_.”

“Oh, did I? Whoops. Probably because I knew you’d then bring it here. Cake for breakfast, anyone?”

“For the record,” Denise said, “there should be a lesbian pride flag on there, Connor. Since you’re imposing on my time and all of that.”

“Why is the aro flag on there?” Rufus asked.

Mason waved cheerfully. “Sorry, was I supposed to tearfully confess that last night?”

“You know that still doesn’t excuse you from the time you brought a stripper to my birthday party, right?”

“Rufus that wasn’t because I’m aro, it’s because the look on your face was the eighth wonder of the world.”

“This is chocolate, right?” Jiya asked, poking at the cake.

“I regret everything in my life,” Wyatt muttered.

“Except me, right?” Flynn asked, smirking.

Lucy laid her head on Wyatt’s shoulder and sipped her coffee. “Happy June 1st,” she told him.

Wyatt didn’t quite smile, but his cheeks did get pink.

Under the table, Flynn gave Lucy a high five.


	50. Wyatt/Flynn/Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/187683160878/hi-im-taking-a-queer-film-and-media-studies

Flynn craned his head, trying to get an eye on Lucy and Wyatt while also keeping his gaze trained on the hallway. “Lucy? Kind of low on time here.”

“One moment!”

“I feel like a pack animal.”

Lucy loaded another bunch of film into Wyatt’s arms. “And you’re a very pretty one, too.”

Wyatt grumbled but let Lucy load more film on him. Flynn could hear shouting. “Guys, we gotta go.”

Lucy double checked the shelves and then nodded. “I think we’re good.”

“Let’s steal some queer film from the Nazis, they said,” Flynn mumbled. “It’ll be a fun honeymoon idea, they said.”

Distinctly angry, German shouts came down the hallway. “Okay, guys, seriously!”

“We’re going!” Lucy and Wyatt hurried out of the room, precious film in hand, and Flynn covered them as they rushed down the hallway.

The mysterious “discovery” of the lost films would be fun for Lucy to plan. And that was really why they were doing this. They couldn’t go meddling through history willy-nilly. But every so often, they could do something small. Something like this.

“C’mon,” Wyatt said as they slipped onto the Lifeboat. “You gotta admit, you like this shit.”

“I will neither confirm nor deny that,” Flynn replied, but he allowed a small smirk to glide across his face as he slammed the Lifeboat door shut.

Okay, so maybe it was a fun honeymoon idea.


	51. Asher/Maria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/187455829018/he-cannot-ravish-he-can-only-woo-for

Maria was a good Catholic girl. She went to mass, she waited until marriage, she baptized and christened Gabriel, even named him after a saint. She went to confession. She had a rosary, one that she used regularly.

Then she lost her husband. And her son.

She buried the rosary with Gabriel. Stopped going to mass. 

Sometimes she wondered if, somehow, Garcia inherited that from her, just through osmosis. He always struggled. But the gilded churches, the image on the cross, the rapture of it all, no longer held meaning for her.

She did find God again, in the little things. And she often thought, perhaps, that if nothing else, her loss taught her to look for those little things, for how else could she have noticed Asher?

Asher would have pined to the ends of the earth without a sound if she had let him. She’d had plenty of offers from other men, men who heard, _oh that poor Maria Thompkins, she’s so lovely, but she lost so much, it’s tragic_ and wanted to swoop in and be her white knight, get a pretty and entertaining new wife, one to show off at parties, _my wife who works at NASA_ , like a toy.

But Asher simply was there.

He was in and out for weeks, and she never knew what day he would be in, but when he was–she knew even without seeing him. There would be a new sketchbook on her desk. Or she would smell coffee, and when she turned around he would be there with a new cup for her.

He never said. Never asked to walk her home, always turning down a different street after three blocks with her. Never asked if he could buy her dinner, although sandwiches would sometimes mysteriously appear on her desk.

Maria was aware enough concerning herself to know that once, she would not have paid him mind. Would have dismissed these little overtures. Her first husband, God rest him, had been the life of the party and so had she, once. There hadn’t been a single high school party she hadn’t attended, a single dance she hadn’t been in the middle of, the homecoming queen, the star of her school, a smile for everyone.

And then came loss, and with loss came quiet, and with quiet came understanding.

And she saw.

She saw the way Asher’s hands turned over and over around themselves, how his fingers would twist together and clench like he was trying to stop himself from touching her. She saw how his gaze would follow her, track her movements, then dart away as if in shame. She saw out of the corner of her eye how he would hover just close enough to be of service but far away enough to not invade her space.

When he walked with her that last night, and she knew it was the last even if he didn’t say it, she could see it in the tightness around the corners of his eyes, she asked him to walk her home. Asked him to come inside. Asked to go with him.

Years later, when Garcia was reading every theological book he could get his hands on, he read a passage to her out loud. “He cannot ravish; he can only woo.”

She couldn’t help but think of him. Although one could argue that first night together—his hands sliding up her sides, his mouth drawing kiss after kiss out of her, his warmth pressed against her, inside her—could be called a ravishment, that line, that was Asher all over.

“What is it?” Garcia asked. He was a gangly boy, not yet grown into his body or his personality. He was watching her face, concerned. He’d become very protective of her—well, more protective than he had already been—after their loss.

“It just reminds me of your father,” Maria said.

Garcia kept staring at her, and she thought, _well, might as well tell him._

Tell him how his father had wooed.


	52. Lorena

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/187448365043/hi-im-going-to-challenge-you-here-if-youll-let

Lorena Flynn has always loved the stars.

It was how she bonded with her mother-in-law. Maria Flynn had been a singular woman, and Lorena’s wonder at how anyone could’ve raised a man like Garcia was explained the moment she first spoke with Maria.

“She could’ve been an astronaut,” Garcia told her. “She could’ve been a jet engineer, she could’ve been anything.”

 _If only she’d been a man._ The last part goes unspoken, but Lorena knows that Garcia feels the loss more keenly than Maria does. Maria is a woman who has lost much—a lover, a son, and then a husband—and yet she endures.

Lorena’s own love of the stars is not so ramrod straight, not out of backbone but out of a soft kind of curiosity. Maria looks up at the stars and sees _further faster farther_ , Lorena looks up and wonders, _do they sing?_

Her favorite part of her favorite book growing up, _A Swiftly Tilting Planet_ , was when Charles Wallace sees the universe being born. It’s stars, singing.

That’s how she’s always imagined it. Garcia struggles with faith. She knows this, they’ve had arguments about it, they’ve had civilized discussions, they’ve whispered at each other long into the night, his fingers gently de-tangling her hair. But when she sees the universe, she doesn’t see a judging figure, she doesn’t see its laws as something to fear or rebel against. Maria sees it as math, she once said, that the book of God was the Bible but the book of the world was numbers. Lorena takes it one step beyond that.

She sees the world as stardust, and the stars are made of music. The world is nothing less than music.

Garcia sometimes jokes that for someone who’s never seen a battlefield, she’s much more comfortable with the idea of the afterlife than he is. They spent a lot of their first few years together with Garcia going around the world, always embroiled in some kind of conflict, often doing things that he either couldn’t or wouldn’t speak about. He stopped when she found she was pregnant with Iris (and she swears, she swears she heard the stars in the first wails of her baby, she swears in that moment the universe sang) and yet, his mortality is something Garcia seems to accept as a deadline, or a just punishment, a consequence.

She’s never seen it that way. _I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night._

And maybe it’s a blessing. Maybe it was some deep knowledge buried inside her, something that told her she would have to leave early, abruptly, and so gave her that love, that song, to prepare her. Maybe it’s some instinct, long forgotten, that is giving her the strength, the grace, to face this without flinching.

She is sad, and she is scared, as the seconds seem to expand into lifetimes, but not for herself. For the one she’s leaving behind.

_(I have loved.)_

She can’t speak, she can’t say anything, she just somehow knows, and she wants to comfort and to hold but there’s nothing for it, and all she can do is know that it’s all right, because the darkness is nothing more than the space between stars.

_(I have loved too fondly.)_

In the moment of her death, she hears singing.

Lorena Flynn has always loved the stars.


	53. Wyatt/Flynn/Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/187067263918/garcyatt-daisy-chain-pretty-please
> 
> Smutty follow-up in chapter eight of 'The Back Section of the Video Store'.

Flynn leaned back against the tree, watching Lucy as she struggled to tuck her hair back out of the way so she could eat her sandwich. “ _Draga_ , here, let me.”

He gently took the strands of her hair and finger brushed them, combing them slowly back until he had enough in his hands to separate and begin to braid.

Wyatt, who had been dozing with his head on Flynn’s leg, cracked an eye open and looked up. “Didn’t know you could braid hair.”

“I learned for… for Iris.” It was still hard, sometimes, to say her name out loud, to talk about her, but—to not talk about her, to avoid speaking of her, that was to truly let her die.

 _The Egyptians believed that so long as a person’s name was remembered, they lived_ , Lucy told him once. He couldn’t help but feel there was something to that.

“You could put a daisy chain in that shit,” Wyatt mumbled, his voice a little fuzzy from sleep.

“I always wanted to be able to do that,” Lucy replied. “But I never could figure it out. Amy and I tried a few times, as kids.”

Wyatt sat up, maneuvering around Flynn to Lucy’s other side. “Here, I’ll teach you.” He began showing her how to pick the daisies, and then loop them around one another to create the chain. “We did these all the time, plenty of daisies in the fields in my hometown.”

Flynn finished braiding his girlfriend’s hair, watching as his boyfriend began to show her how to make daisy chains, and thought about how they were here, having a picnic, for no reason. Just because they felt like it. And they were going to stay out here as long as they wanted, and then go home and do whatever they wanted, and be whoever they wanted. In their _home_ , the one that was theirs with Wyatt’s action and thriller novels everywhere and Lucy’s watercolors hanging up on the walls and the grocery lists and recipes tacked to the fridge in Flynn’s handwriting.

It was a life he hadn’t thought he was capable of having—either literally or morally. That he was no longer worthy of such simple pleasures, of a home, of a family, and that even if he had been, such things were beyond his reach.

Yet here he was. Getting exactly that.

“There you go,” Wyatt said, grinning and chuckling as Lucy started to get the hang of it. He reached up with his own chain and began to thread it through her braid.

Flynn grabbed his phone and snapped a few pictures. “You’re going to hate me for saying this, but you look like a fairy princess.”

“You’re right, I do hate you for saying that.” Lucy’s eyes found his, her smile wide and radiant, and Flynn suspected that she didn’t hate him at all.

The fact that she lived with him and told him routinely that she loved him definitely helped with that suspicion.

Lucy followed Wyatt’s instructions to tie the two ends of the chain together, and then got up onto her knees. “Every princess needs a prince,” she said, and before Flynn could process what that meant, she was dropping the daisy crown onto his head.

“What’s that make me?” Wyatt asked.

“Our loyal knight in slightly tarnished armor.”

“I don’t even get shining armor?”

Lucy kissed him, and Wyatt stopped complaining after that.

Flynn raised an eyebrow. “Can I take this thing off?”

“Nope.” Lucy snapped a few photos of her own. “You look handsome.”

“And adorable,” Wyatt added, snickering.

“I’ll show you adorable,” Flynn said, bracing one hand on the grass so he could lean in and cup Wyatt’s face with the other, rubbing his thumb back and forth along Wyatt’s cheekbone as he kissed him.

The world felt slow and soft as he pulled back and then Lucy laughed and kissed him and Wyatt got pictures of the both of them with daisies in their hair, their dark heads bent together. It felt slow and soft and embracing, sticky summer heat of the best kind, and Flynn grumbled but was glad of the pictures, because he was going to print them and put them up on the bookshelves.

He wanted to always remember what this day, this moment, felt like. A moment of bliss in a happy life.


	54. Rufus/Jiya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/187014201138/what-hath-night-to-do-with-sleep-riya 
> 
> This ficlet references events that take place during season three of the fan project timeless-season-three, which you can find on tumblr @timeless-season-four.

Jiya wakes up to a cold bed.

She wishes that this was new.

Ever since Rufus came back he’s… he’s been struggling, and she appreciates that, she does, but she also… she loves, she _loves_ him, and to have him so close and yet so far from her, it aches in her chest like a piece of glass. If he would just talk to her, open up about it, because she knows she can’t carry this burden for him. She can’t understand. But how can she support him if he won’t let her? He’s not designed to carry this alone. No human being is.

Grabbing one of Rufus’s hoodies, she gets out of bed, sliding it on as she walks quietly down the hall into the main room.

Rufus is awake, tinkering, looking at schematics. His shoulders are hunched and tense, and there are several empty mugs of coffee beside him. There’s also an empty plate littered with crumbs with a post-it note stuck to it saying _eat something_ in Flynn’s mashed handwriting.

He looks up as she enters. Rufus’s eyes used to light up whenever she entered a room. She saw, long before he said anything to her. It made her feel special, luminous. Now his gaze is like glass, and Jiya aches.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed but… it’s late,” she says. “I thought maybe you’d lost track of time. Come to bed?”

“To quote Mason, who’s quoting… someone, _what hath night to do with sleep_?” Rufus replies.

“Milton,” Jiya says. She leans over his shoulder, his warmth so close to hers, but she doesn’t dare touch him. “It’s Milton.”

“Ah.”

Rufus goes back to tinkering. Jiya swallows. Her own saliva tastes like sand, dry grains that scrape down her throat. “I… I’ll leave you to it, then, I suppose.”

“Mmm.”

 _Why did you come for me. I told you not to come for me. I left you a message so you’d know._ Not being with him hurt, those three years, but it hurt less than this.

She takes a chance, braces her hand on his shoulder, and leans in, kissing his cheek just below his ear. Rufus turns his head, pressing their temples together, and for a moment–for a moment he’s hers again.

Then he turns away, doesn’t look at her, and Jiya goes back to the cold bed.

She goes to sleep wearing his hoodie.


	55. Denise & Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/187008750573/if-god-had-wanted-me-otherwise-he-would-have
> 
> This ficlet references events that take place during season three of the fan project timeless-season-three, which you can find on tumblr @timeless-season-four.

Lucy sipped at her tea, flipping idly through the history book. It had long gone cold, but she was stubbornly refusing to warm it up again. She’d let it go cold in the first place. Now she had to drink it.

Someone walked up behind her—not Flynn, she knew his gait and his smell by now, and hated that she knew them—and not Wyatt, who now skirted around her and then put himself in her line of sight so that she could see him coming. Firm tread like that…

“Jiya said you had a hard day,” Denise commented. She sat down in the chair on the other side of the corner Lucy was occupying.

“It’s always a hard day,” Lucy replied. She took another sip of tea and tried not to wince.

Denise took the cup from Lucy’s hands, her fingers firm but gentle, and got up to walk over to the kettle. “I read your report of the events.”

“Mmm.”

“It differs from Jiya’s.”

“Oh?” Lucy watched as Denise added water to the kettle and started it up again, then washed out Lucy’s cup and got a new teabag from the cupboard.

“Yes, yours failed to mention that you… had an intimate moment with one of the rioters.”

“Stormé DeLarverie,” Lucy replied. She felt like she’d been dozing in a dark room and someone had suddenly turned the light on.

Denise nodded, watching the kettle. “Lucy, are you all right?”

She wasn’t all right. She wasn’t all right in so very many ways. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Denise turned to look at her. “Because you could have been honest with me, when you met me in the ‘80s. And you weren’t. That suggests a sense of shame to me.” Denise paused as the kettle whistled, turning back to pour. “I know that there are those in our community who aren’t very accepting.”

_Slut. Cheater. Faker. Liar. You’ll pick a side eventually. Bisexuality doesn’t exist._

“I hope you know I’m not one of those people,” Denise finished. She set the kettle down, and Lucy noticed that Denise’s fingers were trembling. “And if I have ever given you the impression that I am, I’m… I’m sorry.”

She brought the new cup of tea over, setting it in front of Lucy, who took a sip. It soothed her throat.

Denise sat back down. “I only wanted to say that… if you ever wanted to confide in me, I’m here.”

Lucy ran her fingers slowly up and down the side of her cup. It was just hot enough that almost, barely, burned her fingertips. “Amy liked girls,” she said. “Exclusively. She and Mom… had a big fight about it. Amy was in high school. I had just gotten a crush on my… on the woman I’d… It was awful. Their biggest fight yet.

“Mom demanded to know what God would think of Amy. Amy replied, _if God had wanted me otherwise, He would have created me otherwise_.” Her fingers and throat burned. She wanted them to burn more. “I defended her. To Mom. But I didn’t… someone had to be the good daughter. So that Amy could be the… so that Amy could be herself.

“That was what I thought, anyway. Now I don’t know if I just made it harder on her. Maybe I should’ve… been honest. Stood in solidarity. At the time I thought it was a way to keep the peace, bridge the gap, I guess. That if I… if I was good, and everything Mom wanted, then Mom would be okay if Amy wasn’t. If I followed the plan, Mom would… let Amy…”

Denise laid her hand over Lucy’s and a sob she hadn’t even known was working its way free slipped out.

“I know,” Denise said. Her hand was warm, but it didn’t burn. “I wanted to be a good daughter, too.”


	56. Denise & Flynn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/186878226143/random-woken-by-earthquake-thought-garcia-and

“I hate this,” Flynn said.

“I’m aware.”

“You realize this is the worst possible combination, right?”

Denise raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying that I’m at the bottom of your fake dating list, Flynn?”

Flynn paused, and considered. “Jiya’s at the bottom of the list.” He paused again. “But I’m not…” He gestured vaguely in a way that seemed to encompass all the physical romantic gestures that one would perform as part of a couple.

Denise rolled her eyes and took the arm that he offered her. “Trust me, Flynn, if you tried to hold my hand I’d break it.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Thompkins?” the doctor returned. “You’ve been cleared to come in and see your daughter.”

“That’s so great,” Flynn said. “Right this way… honey.”

“I will put you back in solitary.”

Insane asylums were historically the worst, but especially for women. They had to get Jiya out of there as quickly as possible. But collapsing with a vision in public tended to raise eyebrows and it was going to be an uphill battle.

At least Jiya seemed to be in good spirits—laughing at the two of them as they entered. “You told them you were _married_!?” she howled, nearly falling off her chair.

“It’s not that ludicrous,” Flynn said stiffly.

Jiya kept cackling with laughter. “I just—oh my God, you two are just–I can’t believe this.”

“Could we focus, please?” Denise said. “It wasn’t exactly easy to fool them enough to get in here. Lucy’s working on passing herself off as a doctor and getting hired but we’re a little short on time, here, some cooperation would be appreciated.”

“Oh, Lucy is gonna flip when she hears about this,” Jiya chuckled.

Lucy did not nearly fall off her chair laughing, but she did turn a rather interesting shade of red as she valiantly tried to keep her lips pressed together. “You two… got in… by pretending to be married?”

“Yes?” Flynn said. “Why, does that upset you? Is that upsetting?”

Denise held in her sigh. The two weren’t dating but they might as well have been for the adoration Flynn was badly concealing.

“It’s amusing, is what it is,” Lucy said.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Flynn muttered.

“We’re not speaking of this after the mission,” Denise said. She was sick and tired of having to smile at Flynn and call him ‘dear’ and take his arm all the time. “This does not get discussed, are we clear?”

They managed to smuggle Jiya out of the looney bin and get her to pilot them back to the 21st Century, where she promptly turned traitor and told everyone.

Wyatt fell off the couch laughing as Rufus spewed his drink everywhere and Mason had to wipe tears from his eyes. “Honestly, Flynn would kiss Wyatt before he voluntarily married you,” Mason said.

“You two are the most incompatible couple,” Rufus declared. “I swear.”

“Well, it’s done,” Denise said. “We never have to speak of it again.”

“I’m getting you two a fake marriage license,” Jiya said. “It’s gonna be great.”

Denise sighed. Well, at least they never had to do that again.


	57. Lucy/Flynn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/190920983688/so-last-january-i-was-listening-to-sunrise
> 
> Inspired by the song 'Sunrise' from the musical "In the Heights."

They’re curled up on the couch, the only two people left awake. She’s scrunched up against Flynn’s side and she wishes like anything he’d move his arm from between them and wrap it around her shoulders.

But then, she hasn’t asked him.

They’ve moved on from shooting the breeze to Flynn teaching her words in Croatian, based on the flimsy excuse that she might need it someday but really because she likes to hear the sounds curling around his tongue and he has so few reasons to speak his native language and that strikes her as horribly unfair.

Add it to the list of things that are horribly unfair.

“How do you say ‘chocolate’?” she asks, dangling the Hershey’s bar in front of him.

Flynn smiles, taking the bar and setting it down. “It’s _čokolada_.”

She tries to repeat after him, fumbling. Slavic languages require learning how to hold her lips, move her tongue, in a whole new way and it’s unexpectedly difficult.

“What about… house?”

“ _Kuća_.”

“ _Kuća_.”

Flynn chuckles. “Good enough.”

She pokes his leg. “I don’t want good enough.”

“I’m aware,” he says dryly.

She pauses as they stare at each other a beat too long, the look in Flynn’s eyes a touch too soft. They’ve been having more and more of these moments lately and she can’t help the hope that crawls up her chest, taps on her heart to see if she can open the door again.

On the one hand… Flynn still wears his wedding ring.

On the other hand… when he looks at her like this…

_Why are you here?_

Does she dare?

It must be her. She knows enough about Flynn by now to know that’s true. He’s patient with her almost to a fault, waiting for her to knock on his door, for her to start a conversation, for her to bring him a beer and sit on the couch.

She takes a deep breath. “How… how do you say, ‘kiss me’?”

Flynn’s breath visibly catches. He stares at her for a moment as if to ask, _are you sure?_

She holds his gaze and her course. She held onto Wyatt because she was dizzy and falling and lost, but she’s on solid ground now. And she knows what she wants. She knows where her harbor is.

Flynn swallows, wets his lips, clears his throat. “ _Poljubi me_.”

She holds the words in her head for a moment, then speaks. Her voice is a whisper, despite her attempt to sound brave. “ _Poljubi me_.”

Flynn looks at her for a moment more… and then brings his hand up and brushes the hair back from her face. His fingertips leave a path of tingling ignition where they touch her skin.

She holds her breath as he leans in and, oh so softly, presses a kiss to her cheek.

A smile flits across her face. “No,” she tells him. Catches his face in her hands. “ _Poljubi me_ , Garcia. Properly.”

There is only the briefest of pauses this time, and then his lips are on hers.

He kisses her not so much like he’s starting a fire as he is stoking the flames that already exist. She presses into him and feels herself drowning with each swipe of his tongue as she draws kiss after kiss from him, falling, falling, falling through the water until her feet hit bottom and she finds—it’s solid. She will not be dropped or let down.

They pull back just enough for air and she whispers, “How do you say, ‘hold me’?”

Flynn’s response is immediate. “ _Drži me_.”

She kisses him, swift and sure. “ _Drži me_ , Garcia.”

He lifts her up and into his arms even as she says the words, until she’s settled in his lap and they’re wrapped all around each other and she’s held, she’s loved, she’s anchored, she’s light as a sunbeam and just as lit up.

Earlier, she asked him what the word for ‘tonight’ was. She scrambles to remember it. “ _Drži me večeras_.”

She’s pretty sure she gets the pronunciation wrong but Flynn just tightens his hold on her. “As long as you want,” he promises her, words pressed into her mouth. “Lucy. Lucy. As long as you want.”

Good, because she’s pretty sure she wants forever.


	58. Emma & Maria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/190595941233/hes-always-always-in-my-mind-not-as-a 
> 
> This ficlet is from the All Souls Trilogy by @qqueenofhades so you'll probably be lost if you haven't read that.

Maria de Clermont is aware that she cannot count upon Emma Whitmore as a friend.

‘Friend’ suggests not merely an alliance or respect but fondness, familiarity, and Maria wants neither from the witch—nor, she suspects, does Emma want any such kind of thing from her.

But there is a certain level of understanding between them, the understanding of two powerful women in a world that does not want them to be such, playing a game of chess among powerful and greedy (and often shortsighted) men.

She is also aware that Emma is most likely reporting back to Michael everything that Maria tells her, but. Her weakness is already well-known. So it is not friendship, or naivete, or anything else that leads her to answer when Emma asks, brusque, as if she herself cannot believe she’s voicing this question,

“Is your husband really so… are you really still so focused on him that Rittenhouse would… that he thought you’d just give it all up to have Asher again?”

Emma sounds almost scornful, as if the idea of someone giving up their morality, their fighting cause, for love is the most ridiculous idea she’s ever heard about. As if Maria did not just do precisely that in agreeing to go with Emma, in giving herself up so that one of her sons could save the other.

Maria de Clermont has been alive (for a relative meaning of the term) for longer than empires, longer than gods, longer than most grains of sand on the beach. Only one other person still spoke her childhood tongue, and now he is gone. Once, she went with her granddaughter, Jiya, to an exhibition about the Chinchorro mummies, people dead since five thousand B.C., and joked that for once she was seeing something older than herself. She could tell Emma that most of the greatest miracles and greatest depravities she has seen came to be because of love—or lack of love.

But Emma Whitmore seeks to rule the world. She does not want a lecture.

Instead, Maria says, “I believe that… ‘focused’ would be the wrong word. It suggests that I can never think of anything else.”

“What word would you use, then?”

“I’m not sure there even is a single word.” How could you distill your thoughts of the man you loved for over two thousand years into one single word? Or even a single sentence? “He’s always, always in my mind—not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself—but as my own being.”

Emma presses her lips together, a sign, Maria has observed, of when the redhead is mulling something over. “I heard talk about you two. Asher died before my time, obviously. But people still talk about what you did. You branded yourself for him. I don’t know of any other vampire couple like that. Neither of you ever took on a third, or parted for a while.”

Mated vampires are fanatically devoted, it is true, but when you’re with someone for centuries, you can need a break. Maria knows most other couples would take time apart, or would take other lovers to their shared bed from time to time. She and Asher… she doesn’t judge anyone else, but they never needed that.

“No, we never did.”

Emma is silent for another long moment, then says, her words as reluctant as if they’re being pulled out of her throat with pliers, “You did the right thing.”

“There is no ‘right’ thing in war.”

“I meant…” Emma makes a scathing noise in the back of her throat. “If you had said yes and let Rittenhouse bring Asher back. He never would’ve let you keep him.”

“I know.” She does know, she _does_ , and yet it still felt like losing Asher all over again to say no.

“But you wondered,” Emma says, and Maria both hates and respects that the woman, for all of her faults, is shrewd. “And so now you don’t have to wonder anymore.”

“I won’t take this as a kindness.”

“I didn’t ask you to. I don’t want you to. We will win, Maria Witch-Killer.” Maria wonders if Emma’s family were among the witches she killed in the wake of Asher’s death. “I look forward to you watching that happen. But you…” Emma’s mouth twists. “You were the greater enemy. Not your husband.”

It’s courtesy, or as close as Emma can get to it. Maria wants to tell her to shove her courtesy where the sun doesn’t shine, wants to demand to know where this _courtesy_ was when Emma tortured Lucy, when Emma dared to lay a hand upon her daughter-in-law.

She swallows her words. Oh how Asher would laugh, to know that his death finally taught his wife what all his wise warnings could not: patience.

“It’s nice to be appreciated,” she says instead, with just a touch of sarcasm, one that she knows Emma will pick up on.

Emma nods, and the conversation ends, and she is left, once again, to tuck away the heartbreak in a corner of her mind and pretend it hasn’t been lashed open, pretend she hasn’t been flayed, pretend that she can soldier on.

She is no longer a pleasure to herself, and Asher would weep to know it.


	59. Jess/Amy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/190612267793/for-the-prompts-when-wine-enters-modesty

Amy Preston, in general, was a believer in Jordan Baker’s declaration that large parties were so much better than small parties, because they were more intimate. You could squirrel yourself away with someone in a large party to talk gossip, you could have a quick tête-à-tête without people noticing, and you could easily avoid anyone you didn’t like.

But right now—right now she was trying to find Lucy and it had been the better part of an hour and she was growing frustrated.

“What’s the frustrated face for, little rabbit?” Amy jumped as Jessica Logan sidled up to her, a glass of wine in hand.

Jessica Logan was, to quote Amy’s mother, ‘the most scandalous divorcee of the Upper East Side’. She came from wealth and her ex-husband, a veteran of the Great War, did not, but Jessica generously still took care of his financial needs. She also tended to wear pants, swear, and do basically everything else that sent Carol Preston into an outraged swoon.

“I’m looking for Lucy,” Amy told her, trying to ignore the warmth that spread through her as Jess took her by the hip and guided her out of the way of some dancers.

“Ah, well.” Jess snagged a glass of wine from a passing waiter and handed it to her. “In that case, you might want to enjoy this for a bit with me.”

“Oh?”

“Last I saw our dear Lucy, she was being escorted to a private tour of our host’s bedroom.”

Amy groaned. If Lucy was indeed off to have a night with Flynn, she was not going to deal with the fallout from Wyatt (Jess’s aforementioned ex and Lucy’s usual lover) in the morning. “Please tell me Wyatt didn’t see it.”

“Wyatt was with her,” Jess smirked, and Amy choked on her sip of wine.

Jess laughed. “You’re this odd mix of daring and innocent, Amy Preston, I quite like it.”

“Why do you always call me that?” Amy asked, taking another fortifying sip of her drink.

“Call you what?”

“Little rabbit.”

“Because.” Jess’s voice dipped down lower, became more intimate. “I feel like a fox when I’m with you.”

Oh. Amy’s heart was racing and she knew her cheeks were flushed. “A modest young lady wouldn’t appreciate the analogy.”

“Well, you know what they say in Italy.” Jess shrugged. “When wine enters, modesty departs.” She paused. “If you wish for that excuse. I’ve never needed one, but…”

It would be easy, to gulp down the rest of her wine and claim that was why she was swaying so close. But Amy, despite all her objections about her mother’s beliefs, had inherited one distinct thing from Carol and that was a spine. Never let it be said that any Preston woman let fear rule her choices.

She set the mostly-full glass of wine down and took a step closer to Jess. “I’ve never needed an excuse, either.”

Jess set down her own glass, her hands sliding warm and firm around Amy’s hips. “I hear Flynn’s late wife and daughter were fond of flowers. The gardens were constructed in their honor. Would you like a tour? It’s very quiet out there, lots of dark corners…”

“Lead the way,” Amy replied, feeling breathless.

Nobody saw them leave. Oh yes, Amy Preston loved large parties.


	60. Wyatt/Flynn/Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/190798466268/hi-im-crying-over-garcyatt-so-im-just-gonna

Flynn was making dinner when Lucy burst through the front door. “Did you hear!?”

He wracked his brain, trying to think what she could be talking about. There hadn’t been any particular gossip in the group, nothing from Rufus or Denise… he didn’t listen to the radio on his commute, preferring music, so if there was a new political scandal he wasn’t aware of it. He’d worry it was the kids, but Wyatt had been home with them all day and Flynn had been here for half an hour so he was pretty sure if Maria had gotten into trouble at kindergarten or Ethan had tried to stick his finger in a light socket, Wyatt would’ve told him already.

“No?” he answered, setting aside the pasta sauce.

Lucy, instead of explaining anything, marched up to him and took his face in her hands, kissing him deeply, soundly, for quite some time.

Flynn responded (how could he not), his hands falling to her waist, and when she pulled back, he saw her eyes were shining in that particular way that meant she was trying not to cry, or had perhaps already done some crying. Her cheeks were rather pink.

“Is everything all right?” he asked. Was something going on with the timeline? Had the outcome they all still feared—Rittenhouse returning—come to pass?

Lucy nodded, and smiled brilliantly. “Wyatt?”

“Shh!” Wyatt padded quietly down the stairs. “Ethan’s still asleep, took me forever to get him to nap today—what? What’s wrong?”

Lucy reached out her hand and Wyatt took it automatically, shooting Flynn a bewildered look. Flynn shrugged.

“It’s legal,” Lucy announced, her voice soft and awed. “They legalized polyamorous marriage. We can—it can be all three of us.”

Wyatt flushed and Flynn could see him swallow. “You—you mean—you’re sure?”

Lucy nodded, and this time tears really did fall. Flynn kissed her cheeks, tasting the salt, and reached out for Wyatt as well, the two of them pulling him in. Wyatt immediately tucked his face into Flynn’s neck, shaking, breathing heavily.

They no longer had to worry about legal issues if something happened to one of them. They didn’t have to hide things to their neighbors, Maria’s teachers, at work. They could stop being careful, stop double checking, stop _hiding_.

“I love you,” Lucy whispered. “I love you so much.” Her nails dug into his back. Flynn rubbed her shoulders, kissed the top of her head, kissed Wyatt’s temple. His heart felt so full he feared it might fall out of him.

“Shit,” Wyatt mumbled. “You know what this means? We gotta have a wedding.”

“We don’t have to…” Flynn started.

“Nah, we gotta.”

Flynn nudged Wyatt’s hair with his nose. “Does that mean you _want_ a wedding?”

“…maybe?” Wyatt hadn’t gotten anything with Jess, just the two of them at the church with Jess’s parents witnessing.

Truth be told, Flynn was a bit old fashioned. He liked the idea of all of them together, making promises, reaffirming their bond in front of their friends.

“We can do that, then,” he said. “If that’s what you want.”

Wyatt nodded into his neck. Flynn’s shirt was a bit wet—both at his collar and at his chest where Lucy had buried her face—but he didn’t comment on it. He just kept holding them.

Dinner could wait a little while.


	61. Lucy/Flynn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/612965632714129408/truthfully-this-is-the-fabric-of-all-my

Lucy didn’t mean to fall asleep.

One minute she was several books deep into researching the Spanish flu pandemic, the next she was wincing as a painful crick in her neck made itself known.

Laura Spinney’s _Pale Rider_ had, apparently, been serving as her impromptu pillow. Lucy sat up, rubbing at her neck, and the blanket over her shoulders nearly fell off.

She hadn’t been wearing a blanket earlier. And... why did she smell coffee?

Lucy picked up the blanket automatically, wrapping it around her, and looked up.

Flynn had pulled up a chair a few feet away and was reading through the other books she’d piled up on the desk, a cup of coffee in his hand. Another mug of coffee, still steaming, was on the table, next to a plate of... were those cookies? Did he make those? When did he make those?

Flynn glanced up at her, nodded at the food, then went back to making notes in the book.

Lucy slid the coffee and cookies towards herself. Two sugars, touch of milk. The cookies were snickerdoodles.

How the hell... _when_ the hell had he learned about the cookies? She was sure she wouldn’t have put that in the journal. It was the most random fact. She must have said something, at some point, a passing comment... or perhaps he’d asked around, Jiya might know something like that. Or Rufus, they’d gotten into a debate about desserts once while Wyatt had put his face into his hands and groaned for a solid two minutes straight.

Flynn’d done research, in other words. He’d asked around. To know what she liked. He’d paid attention to how she took her coffee.

Lucy felt her face heating up as she ate, covering it with a quick sip from the mug. “You... you should get some sleep, too, you know.” Doing this research, that was her job.

Flynn set aside the pen and highlighter he’d been using. “You’re the historian, and we can’t replace your expertise, but we’re all capable of reading. There’s no reason we can’t help share the load a little.”

But it wasn’t any of the others sitting up with her. It was Flynn.

A warmth spread through her chest that had nothing to do with the coffee. Who else _knew_ her like this? Who else was willing to put in the work for it?

“Garcia?”

Flynn looked up, startled, his eyes wide.

Lucy swallowed and stood, crossing the couple steps that separated them, and braced her hands on Flynn’s shoulders. Maybe this was how it started. Not with a bang or a revelation but a quiet, sudden knowledge. _Oh, there you are._ Like studying for an essay or a test and suddenly realizing, _I know this material._

She couldn’t breathe as she leaned in, waiting for Flynn to put up a hand to stop her, to shut her down. But Flynn just stared until they were a hair’s breadth away from each other and both their eyes slid closed, and her mouth was against his.

Flynn’s arms encircled her, she found her way onto his lap, and the book, at some point, slid to the floor.

 _I want to research you,_ she thought, and maybe that was the same thing as the larger, more frequent word. Maybe she should say that out loud.

But first... she would keep kissing him.


	62. Flynn/Wyatt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/613047228927442944/i-thought-that-pain-meant-i-was-not-loved-it

Growing up, Wyatt never understood the whole... happy side of love that he saw in movies and television and books. It seemed, to him, that people had to be making that shit up, because all he knew was the goddamn dregs of it. The absent mom, the asshole dad, the grandfather who died and left him.

The happy families bit? The kissing in the rain, the long bone-crushing hugs, the smiles over in-jokes? Who the hell really had that?

When he met Jess... he’d hoped the pain would stop. That it would get better. But instead it just shifted. Morphed inside of him like some animal shifting under his skin, a horrible mutation, a tumor with a mind of its own. The pain had been pain of losing her, the pain of worrying that he wasn’t enough, the pain of of fear.

By the time Lucy and Flynn rolled around, Wyatt had just gotten used to the idea that there was always going to be that feeling in his chest, like someone had cracked a rib and it wasn’t healing. The only change was he’d started to wonder if the problem was him. If he couldn’t love properly, like a porcupine trying to hug someone. Nothing but tears for both parties involved.

“Wyatt.” Rufus shook his shoulder. “Yo, buddy. Up and at ‘em.”

“What fucking time is it.” He’d fallen asleep slumped over on the kitchen table. Ugh, his fingernails still had blood under them. Shit. He’d been so tired he couldn’t even see properly when he’d been washing his hands.

“I don’t know, like, three a.m.? Flynn’s asking for you.”

Wyatt hauled himself up to standing. “Bleeding again?”

“No, I checked the bandages.”

“Lucy?”

“Asleep, I made sure she wasn’t on the wound.”

Wyatt nodded. Ran a hand through his hair. Grimaced, because he was pretty sure he just felt dried blood in it. Fuck, he needed a shower. He’d been literally tugging his hair out a few times.

Rufus eyed him. “No offense, but you look like shit. You wanna take a shower first?”

“I don’t want to keep him waiting. Is he on pain meds?”

“Yeah. Not a lot, though. He didn’t want too many.”

Of course he didn’t, the bastard, always grinning and bearing it.

“Seriously.” Rufus laid a hand on Wyatt’s shoulder. “You look like shit. Are you okay?”

“I just spent hours performing surgery on...” Words slipped and slid around in his mouth, dangerous words. “...my teammate, of course I’m not okay.”

Rufus had that annoyed look he got when he knew something and he didn’t appreciate everyone else pretending he didn’t know it. “Bud. It’s okay. I know love hurts sometimes.”

A cracked laugh slipped out of him, dry as the Registan. “It hurts all the time, Rufus. It’s what happens when you love people and they don’t love you back.” Mom, Dad, Jess, Lucy.

Flynn.

Rufus shrugged. “Y’know, once I asked Mom if it was worth it. She loved Dad a lot. And she told me... pain doesn’t have anything to do with whether or not you’re loved back. Pain means that _you_ loved.” He paused. “I think that’s the more important thing to figure out. Not what the other person feels. What do you feel? Did you love? And did you love them the right way?”

His hand dropped from Wyatt’s shoulder. “Flynn’s asking for you. Go on.”

Wyatt stumbled away, Rufus’s words ringing in his ears.

Flynn was propped up on just about every pillow in the bunker. Lucy was, sure enough, dead asleep, her head on his shoulder, her face pinched. Her hand and Flynn’s were intertwined.

Wyatt’s gaze found the bandages on his chest first. How could they do otherwise? It was like trying not to look at a fucking spotlight. His chest got tight.

“Hey.” Flynn’s voice was a rasp. Probably needed water. With what had to be a lot of effort, he raised his hand, holding it out. “Wondered where you’d gone.”

Wyatt moved closer, gingerly setting himself on the edge of the bed. “You need anything?”

There’d been so much blood. It shocked him how much people could bleed, still. How fast it all went to Hell. The way pain had spread through his chest almost like an echo of what Flynn must’ve been feeling, the fear that had clawed at the inside of his throat until he’d been choking even as he’d literally plunged his hands into Flynn’s body to save him.

Love felt like that. Like opening up your chest and asking someone to stick their hands in your organs. And then hoping they’d be gentle.

Flynn’s hand pawed at him until Wyatt took it. “Just you,” he answered.

Wyatt’s eyes itched and he found himself squeezing Flynn’s hand tightly. Maybe this whole time he’d been looking to others to ease a pain that he’d misdiagnosed this whole time.

Flynn’s mouth twitched up into the ghost of a smile and then his eyes slid closed. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Fuck, it’d take a whole strike team to drag him from the room now. “Sure thing.”

He gripped Flynn’s hand tight, watched his chest carefully for signs of pain as Flynn’s breathing evened out again into sleep.

Maybe he had been loved, maybe he hadn’t been. But oh, God, he could say with certainty now that he had loved.


	63. Lucy/Flynn & Flynn/Wyatt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/616049233095802880/number-11-from-the-prompt-list-if-you-have-not
> 
> This is a direct postscript to the Timeless Season Four episode "Unsinkable" so you'll need to read that first, found here: https://timeless-season-four.tumblr.com/post/615871469967261696/timeless-4x08-unsinkable
> 
> This is Lucy/Flynn with unrequited Flynn/Wyatt (or unrequited Wyatt/Flynn/Lucy depending on how you look at it).

There’s no real light where they are. Only pinpricks of it, tricks of the light that seem to slide over the shapes around them, like looking for rainbows in oil slicks. But that’s all right. She doesn’t need to see. That’s what she has her fingertips for, and right now, those fingers are sliding over every curve of him that she can reach, the bridge of his nose, the sharp angle of his jaw, the broad slope of his shoulder.

Flynn barely stirs. He just survived a sinking ship, swimming in freezing water, and then (thoroughly) fucked her, so Lucy supposes he’s allowed to lie there like a log for a bit if he feels like it. She’s just scared. So, so scared, that he might not be real.

In the dark, she can breathe as raggedly as she wants, and let her hair fall across his chest, and press her forehead to his. Flynn reaches up, his fingers clumsily finding her hips, keeping her steady as she settles on top of him—not, this time, out of carnal pleasure but simply to press together, to feel how solid he is, to keep as close as she can. In the dark, she can let out her fears, silently, and hold him, tightly as she wants to.

“Are you warm enough?” Lucy asks. He must be warm. He has to be warm. She won’t lose him to hypothermia, after all this.

“I’m warm,” Flynn mumbles, his accent thick, his lips barely moving.

Lucy brushes her lips over his closed eyes. He was so cold when she first grabbed him. His clothes were freezing and weighed about as much as he did, they were so waterlogged. She kissed his fingers over and over until they were no longer tinged blue, but still, she fears, she fears...

 _I love you._ It’s not something to say right now, although she’s sure Flynn knows it already. But they’re too tired for the conversation that’ll have to happen afterwards. So she just thinks it instead. She pushes his hair back out of his face, learns him by touch alone, and holds him until she feels like she is the darkness, wrapping around him, hiding him from the world, from pain, from danger.

This is far from the ideal spot. They’re in a random storage room of some kind. But she wouldn’t trade it for a palace right now. Lucy presses her forehead to his, feels Flynn’s breaths even out into sleep, and sinks her heart into his ocean.

* * *

Flynn wakes up and for a wild second is sure he’s gone blind.

Then he remembers—finding the tattered remains of a lifeboat (the irony is not lost on him), Lucy, kissing her like it was the only thing that could save him (maybe it was), finding a random, unoccupied space—

Lucy’s on top of him now, her breathing a bit ragged, but when he reaches up and pushes some of her hair out of her face, she doesn’t stir. Asleep, then. But not at rest.

He’s not sure he... Lucy has been walking a line, he knows, between being forthcoming and being respectful, when it comes to what they are to each other. And it’s not that he’s doubted her. But he’s not sure he actually understood how much she—for _him—_ until he saw her face as he staggered out onto the deck. It was blazing. It was a campfire in the middle of the woods, it was a lighthouse in a storm, it was a candle in a haunted house. And she’d _kissed_ him, like—like—

Part of him wants to shake her. To say, _don’t you know? Don’t you know what measure of man you love? Why would you do that? Why would you let my ink stain your pages?_ Lucy means light, and he is the opposite of that, but God, Mother Mary, _someone,_ give him the softness and courage to love her back the right way because for some reason despite all of it, Lucy loves him. He cannot deny the press of her lips against his skin, her sighs in his ear, her warmth taking him in. He can’t insult her by ignoring it or dismissing it. And all he wants is to be worthy of it.

All this time and he’s still looking for absolution.

Flynn’s fingers tangle in her hair as he gently combs it back, hampered by his lack of sight, and he secures his arm further across her waist so she doesn’t slip off him and fall. They need to find Rufus and Wyatt, they need to get off, get home... but maybe just a little longer, he’ll let her sleep. Because here, in the darkness, he feels he’s loving her as he’s meant to—and for better or for worse, the way Lucy seems to want to be loved.

* * *

Wyatt likes to keep himself busy when he’s upset and right now is no exception. Lucky him, there’s plenty of help needed on a ship that’s taking in survivors from a horrific shipwreck, and he runs around fetching blankets, food, water, taking down names of survivors, reuniting people, comforting children, and drying the tears of newly-made widows. It’s great fun, oh yeah, puts him right back in the Alamo, right back in fucking Kuwait and Afghanistan, but at least it’s not leaving him alone with his thoughts.

And his thoughts are really... not great.

There’s really no doubt what Lucy and Flynn are up to. Um, well, maybe not _that_ specifically. If Wyatt had just gone swimming in below zero temperatures he sure wouldn’t be able to get his dick up. But they’re kissing, and cuddling, and being fucking _adorable_ and in love somewhere on this fucking ship and Wyatt really, really, _really..._

He inhales the stinging sea air. Grips the rails. Stares at the dark void where he thinks the horizon is until everything evens out again. It’s dark out here on the deck, and cold, but he needs it. Needs the chill. Needs a little... self-flagellation.

Because he’s not gonna make the same mistake a third time. Jess, then Lucy, now... he’s not gonna focus on what he wants and wallow in how much it hurts him. He’s going to love someone right, for once in his stupid life.

It’s not the kind of love that is sung about, or shown in films, or gets everyone screaming at a television show for five seasons. It’s the kind of love that’s hidden under a blanket fort at midnight during a sleepover. The love at the back of a movie theater. The love you can only think about when nobody else is around, the love you tuck very carefully in between the curve of your heart and that shadowy other thing that science can’t detect but everyone knows is there.

Wyatt tucks it there now, and warns it to stay. Sit. Quiet. Good boy.

The sky looks like spilled oil, colors at the corners of his eyes, and that, Wyatt thinks, that’s what this love looks like.


	64. Lucy & Her Daughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally posted on tumblr here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/616228833748811776/38-for-anything-involving-lucy-preston-x
> 
> WARNING: Major Character Death
> 
> Background Garcyatt

After all of this time, she’s learned how to hold in the tears until she’s alone. She makes the funeral arrangements, attends the funeral, and accepts the many condolences with grace and dignity and a grateful smile.

When the last of the neighbors have dropped off casseroles (which she wasn’t even aware people still did as a thing), she sits down quietly at the kitchen table, and she just... breaks.

Every other time—when it was Mom, when it was Wyatt, every historical person, when birthing Ethan was tough and she thought he might, or she might, or they both might not make it—every time, Flynn was there.

And now.

Well. Now he’s not.

She runs a hand through her hair. She’s got crows feet and wrinkles and all the rest but her hair is still thick and dark. Flynn would always run his fingers through it.

How the fuck is she supposed to do this alone? How is she supposed to fill the chasm that sits in her chest, how is she—

“Mom?”

Maria enters the kitchen, wrapped in a robe. She’s short, she got her mother’s height, but she’s tall to Lucy, who still pictures her as that two-year-old who would toddle into the room loudly calling _Tata, Tata! Up, up, up!_ demanding to be held by her father.

“Hey, baby.” Lucy quickly wipes at her eyes—a habit, she knows she’s not fooling anyone.

“Oh, Mama.” Maria crosses over and hugs her. “I’m sorry, you seemed so...”

“I didn’t want you to see...”

“Should I get Aunt Amy?” Amy’s asleep upstairs, in the master bedroom, so Lucy won’t have to sleep alone. After all these years, now Lucy’s the one with nightmares, and Amy the one keeping them away.

Lucy shakes her head. “No, no, thank you darling.” She pets her daughter’s dark hair. Maria has Wyatt’s eyes, that’s how they know she’s technically his, biologically, but with her dark hair, Lucy still likes to think of her as a combination of both her husbands.

“How do you deal with it?” Maria whispers. “The pain?”

She keeps petting her daughter’s hair. “I used to hate it. How much it hurt. I thought—especially after my mother, I thought that it meant I wasn’t loved enough. That if I had been loved, I would’ve been happy enough with that, that losing the person wouldn’t mean pain.

“But now I know—it doesn’t mean that the other person didn’t love me. It meant that I loved them. It hurts to lose something that you love. Whether or not they loved you back almost doesn’t matter. We’re rather selfish. The dead don’t grieve. The ones who are left behind are the ones who suffer, really.

“So I try to remember... the pain just means that I loved them, and what an honor it was to love someone like your papa. Like your dad.”

Maria sinks into her lap, like she really is still a child, and her voice is choked. “But does the pain go away?”

Lucy longs for the days when ‘pain’ meant a scraped knee and she could erase it with just a kiss to her daughter’s knee. Instead, she reaches for a piece of paper and a pencil, drawing a box. “This is your heart. And this...” She draws a button on one of the box walls. “...this is the pain. And this...” She draws a huge circle inside the box, one that presses up against every side of it. “...this is your grief, right now.

“It’s so big, it presses up against the button constantly. You feel the pain always. But over time...”

She erases the circle and makes it smaller, small enough it just floats around in the middle. “...over time it grows smaller. And it floats around, and only sometimes does it hit the button. And it will hit the button. Usually when you least expect it. But it’s not always. It’s not even often. And it can sit in your heart, and you can live with it.”

Maria contemplates the drawing. “I’d like you to try and stay around a little longer, Mom.”

With Wyatt, it was liver cancer, from the drinking before they met. With Flynn, it was just old age. He was older, after all - and Rufus suspects that time travel had something to do with it. But Lucy’s still remarkably healthy.

“I won’t be going anywhere for a while, darling.” She kisses her daughter’s cheek. “I have to give you away in September, remember?”

Maria gives a small, wet laugh. “Of course.”

Lucy thinks that’ll be the end of it, but Maria lays her head on Lucy’s shoulder, and makes no effort to move.

They stay like that for a long, long time.


	65. Wyatt/Flynn/Lucy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on tumblr here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/620291943881146369/so-i-tried-to-answer-this-ask-and-then-tumblr

It was Lucy’s idea.

The thing was, both of them needed a new start. Wyatt was fresh off the divorce from Jess, Lucy needed to get away from her mom, and it was less expensive to find a place together than to try and live alone.

The whole “we slept together once and don’t talk about it” thing was kind of awkward, sure, but they were making it work. It was better just to stay friends.

Which was why Wyatt spit his orange juice across the table when Lucy sat down next to him at breakfast and said, “we need to have a wedding.”

“We need to what.” Wyatt grabbed a towel to mop up the juice.

“Not a real wedding,” Lucy protested. “A fake one. We just send out the invitations.”

“If we send out the invitations, people will come. They’ll expect a wedding.” Lucy’d had some interesting ideas but she’d never gone full-on loony bin like this.

“Not if we only send out invitations to rich people.” Lucy pushed a list towards him. “Listen. Think about it. What do you do when you’re invited to a wedding that you can’t attend? You send a gift. Gifts like toasters and other household appliances. Appliances we _need_.”

...okay, she had a point. Some people might even just send money. “Are you sure about this?”

“Positive,” Lucy insisted. “What could possibly go wrong?”

* * *

It was Jiya’s idea.

Jiya was technically Flynn’s secretary, but in reality she was so much more than that. After Lorena and Iris died, it was Jiya who picked up the pieces and kept Flynn going. She ran his professional life behind the scenes, tag-teaming with Stiv to make sure that all that Flynn had worked for didn’t crumble the same as he did.

It was thanks to her that the company was still running, honestly. It was thanks to her he hadn’t just laid down in the dirt to join his wife and child.

But being appreciative of Jiya, and trying to take some of her suggestions about being social again, did not equate to going to the wedding of two complete strangers.

“Absolutely not. I’m not crashing a wedding.”

“You can’t crash a wedding if you’ve been invited.”

Flynn waved the invitation in the air. “I don’t know this...” He looked at it again. “Lucy Preston or Wyatt Logan.”

“They know that,” Jiya pointed out, smirking. “Look, they’re having a wedding, right? And they’re right in the Bay Area surrounded by these jerkoff tech billionaires and millionaires who made their money off apps and whatever. So they probably figured, hey? Why not invite a few of those rich assholes? None of them will ever come, the invitation probably won’t get past their secretary, and the secretary will arrange to send a nice gift as a consolation for not being able to make it. Nobody’s going to double check whether their boss really knows these people. Who’d have the audacity to send a wedding invitation to someone they don’t know, right?”

Flynn had to admit, that was... a clever plan. He had to admire this Miss Preston and Mr. Logan for it. Moving in together, starting a life together, that was expensive and full of hidden costs. Tricking some people too rich to care into gifting them some household appliances or money? It was kind of genius.

And it would be kind of fun to surprise these people, kind of play their joke back on them. He’d still give a generous wedding gift, of course. But who said he couldn’t have some fun with this?

“...you know what, Jiya? You’re right.” He smiled—that smile that Jiya always said made him look like a mob boss. “Would you like to be my plus one?”

Jiya grinned. “Oh, as if I’d miss this.”

It would be fun—and what could possibly go wrong?

* * *

“...he RSVP’d,” Lucy said faintly.

Wyatt stared at her. “Who did?”

He was in the middle of unwrapping the lovely gifts they’d gotten from several other millionaires on the list. So far they had a toaster, a printer, monogrammed pajamas, and a set of plates. Excellent.

“Garcia Flynn. You know, the security guy?”

Flynn, yeah, Wyatt remembered him. He’d created a security app with his best friend, based it off his extensive war record, his work with Interpol, and the NSA.

“Isn’t he the one who...”

“Lost his wife and daughter in that home invasion, yeah.” Lucy sounded sad.

It had been a horrible twist of cosmic irony.

“...wait.” The actual meaning of what Lucy had said caught up with him. “He RSVP’d? He’s coming?”

“He’s coming,” Lucy confirmed. “He’s bringing a friend.”

“To the wedding.”

“Yes.”

“That is not actually happening.”

“Yes.”

Wyatt stared at Lucy. Lucy stared back.

“...you know when I called you the Bonnie to my Clyde I was... joking about the whole causing trouble part, right?”

“Trust me,” Lucy replied, her voice a bit strangled, “I’m wishing I could smack my past self right about now.”

* * *

Lucy had never been more grateful that her friends were all chaotic neutral gremlins who hated capitalism.

Jess, Rufus, Amy, Denise, and Michelle all leapt right into the wedding planning. Something small, nothing too fancy, basically a party except Michelle had sweet-talked her pastor into letting her borrow the church on a Saturday afternoon and they’d have the fake ceremony there first.

Michelle, as the only one who’d set foot in a church recently (Jess was half-convinced she’d catch fire the second she crossed the threshold), was going to pretend to be the pastor and conduct the ‘ceremony’.

Then they’d all retire to the backyard of Rufus’s friend-slash-boss-slash-father-figure’s place for the party. Mason was conveniently out of town at a science conference in England, and Rufus was house sitting.

It was all going to be perfectly manageable. So long as Mom didn’t find out about this stunt, anyway.

Lucy picked out her dress, something fun and simple, with a short, flared skirt so that she could easily dance in it, and a cute little hat-veil that was like the white version of the chic funeral hat that the wife who _definitely_ killed her husband wore in the movies.

Wyatt was prepped (Jess, Rufus, and Lucy had all separately had to give him pep talks about breathing and not messing this up for them), Lucy looked fabulous, Mom was still in the dark, nothing could possibly go wrong...

“...oh my _God,_ that’s _Garcia Flynn_!?” Amy hissed.

Lucy peered around her sister’s head and... oh holy fuck.

Six foot four of pure handsome was standing towards the back of the church in a well-cut navy suit. Next to him was a young woman who seemed to be around Amy’s age in a light purple dress that beautifully complimented her dark skin and brown eyes.

“Nobody said anything about him being sex on a stick, holy fuck,” Amy whispered.

Jess looked offended, then stared down at herself as if silently asking herself if _she_ wasn’t sex on a stick.

Lucy had to agree with her sister, though. That man was... holy shit. She needed a tall glass of water.

The back door to the room opened and Wyatt and Rufus shoved inside. “Who the fuck is that woman with Flynn!?” Rufus whispered.

“His plus one,” Lucy answered. “Someone named Jiya Marri.”

“Fantastic, thank you, excuse me,” Rufus said, and pushed both Amy and Lucy out of the way. “Duty calls.”

“What duty!?”

“My duty of escorting that lovely woman to her seat, ‘scuse me.”

“Don’t use a _Star Wars_ pickup line!” Lucy hissed after him. “Rufus! Rufus!”

They all watched as Rufus walked up to the two people, spoke with them for a moment—and then Flynn laughed while Jiya scowled.

“...he used the _Star Wars_ pickup line,” Amy moaned.

Wyatt grabbed Lucy and hauled her to the side. “Watch the dress!” she warned him.

“Did you see him?”

“Of course I saw him!”

“But did you _see_ him!?”

As far as Lucy knew, only she and Jess knew Wyatt was bi. He’d had several drunken benders, cry sessions, and breakdowns over it.

“Yes, Wyatt,” she sighed. “I noticed he’s a tree and I’m a squirrel. He’s a jackhammer, I’m a block of cement. He’s a Popsicle, and I’m a kid with a sugar addiction on a ninety degree summer day.”

“Please stop with the metaphors,” Wyatt groaned, screwing his face up. “Why do I still find you hot?”

“Because I’m a goddess. Wyatt.” She grabbed his arms and shook him. “What. Do we do.”

“I was going to ask you that! This was all your idea!”

“I won a wet t-shirt contest,” Jess said. “Twice. I’m sex on a stick.”

“That’s nice,” Amy said, not even looking at Jess. “C’mon, I think Rufus needs rescuing, Flynn’s just watching him dig himself a grave with Marri.”

She grabbed Jess by the wrist and dragged her out while Jess continued to look betrayed.

Lucy took several deep breaths. “Okay. Okay it’s fine. We’ll just... we’ll go through with it, it’s too late to back out now, and we’ll be polite, and... and...”

God she was going to have to meet the most handsome man she’d ever seen in her life and _not_ flirt with him. She could cry.

“It’ll be fine,” she concluded.

Wyatt looked doubtful.

* * *

Flynn had not expected the wedding to be so small. Then again, he wasn’t even technically supposed to be here, so.

There was just the pastor, her wife and their two children, the maid of honor (who was apparently the sister of the bride), the groom’s ex-wife (who was blatantly and hopelessly trying to get the maid of honor’s attention), and the groom’s friend, who was failing at flirting with Jiya.

They all seemed like very kind people, at least, and fiercely loyal to Lucy and Wyatt, the intended couple. _They’ve been best friends for years,_ Amy, the sister, said. _Though they’d never call themselves that,_ Jess, the ex-wife, added.

“This isn’t what I thought it would be,” Jiya admitted to him softly.

“Me neither.” He’d expected something big and fussy. He felt bad for crashing now.

The pastor, Michelle, asked for everyone to please be seated, and then the groom took his spot at the altar with her.

Huh. The guy, Wyatt Logan, was... huh. He glanced over at Flynn nervously, his cheeks going a little pink, and then glanced quickly down at this shoes, shifting his weight.

Oh. Flynn hadn’t been with anyone since he’d lost his family, but he knew what that look meant. And Wyatt Logan was exactly the kind of pretty that Flynn had a weak spot for.

Then the doors opened and the bride walked in.

Flynn’s jaw went slack.

Lucy Preston was _stunning_. Her wedding dress was a little casual, and her veil barely counted, but she looked like she’d stepped off a runway. The smirk on her face as she looked at everyone was making it hard for Flynn to breathe.

She caught him staring at her and winked, and Flynn wondered if God was punishing him for all the things he’d screamed when he’d lost Lorena and Iris because holy shit, the first two people he’d been attracted to since his wife were standing right in front of him and _marrying each other._

“...you need a roof for that barn you’re raising, Boss?” Jiya murmured, playfully glancing down at his lap and then back up to his face.

Flynn knew he wasn’t raising a barn, or anything else, but he glared at her all the same.

Jiya stifled a laugh.

* * *

“He’s still staring,” Wyatt whispered.

Lucy struggled not to glance over her shoulder. So far, the reception was going well. Denise worked in Homeland so apparently she and Flynn knew some of the same people and were getting along, Rufus had (with Jess’s help) managed to get a second chance with Jiya and was now making her laugh, and Amy was having fun playing DJ.

And Flynn kept staring at them.

“It’s just because we’re the couple who had the audacity to invite him to their six-person wedding,” Lucy murmured.

“N-no,” Wyatt replied. “I think I know what that woman in _Jaws_ felt like.”

“As if you would object to being devoured by him.”

“I wouldn’t, but he thinks I’m married!”

Lucy bit her lip. “We never did talk about the time we...”

Wyatt blushed. “We agreed we were... better as... I know I hurt you. Going back to Jess. I fucked a lot of shit up.”

Lucy took his hand. “Look. We can keep just being friends. Or. We can split that six layer sundae. If you know what I mean.”

“Would he... he’s a millionaire, Lucy. We’re nobody.”

“He’s a millionaire who showed up to a random wedding, Wyatt. He’s _lonely_.”

“He’ll be appalled.”

“You’re the one who said he was Jaws. It’s San Francisco! Silicon Valley has _sex parties,_ we are the least scandalous thing around here.”

Wyatt flushed, but squeezed her hand. “Okay.” He nodded. “Okay. What’s the worst that could happen, right?”

* * *

Wyatt had never ached so much in his fucking life. Pun intended. Holy shit.

“I’m not moving for a week,” he moaned into the pillow.

Lucy laughed and Flynn (Garcia) lightly smacked his ass. “Lazy.”

Wyatt rolled over and grinned up at him. Flynn was handsome enough when he looked serious, but when he smiled it was like sunshine. “You like me anyway.”

“Do I, though?”

“Three days of sex suggests...” Lucy pointed out, trailing off with a wink.

“Talk about an unconventional honeymoon,” Flynn pointed out.

Wyatt froze, and he felt Lucy do the same.

“Um,” Lucy went pink. “About that.”

* * *

“So nice to be invited to a real wedding this time,” Flynn noted as they took their seats.

“Oh my God,” Wyatt groaned.

“Shhh, you got us out of the deal, you can’t complain.” Lucy kissed his cheek.

He had, in fact, gotten the two of them out of it.

“I’m going to go find Jiya,” he told them, kissing Wyatt’s forehead and Lucy’s hair. He was the one giving her away.

As he stood up, he heard Amy say to Jess, “Wait, are you flirting with me?”

All of them groaned.


End file.
